Kitchen Heaven
by nileflood
Summary: Gabriel's never been very much good at anything in life, apart from cooking and entertaining a crowd. It only makes sense that he should try and bite off more than he can chew by becoming a TV chef. While Kitchen Heaven succeeds in their small home state, it's not exactly the household name Gabriel wants it to be. With the help of his brother-producer-financial backer Castiel...


Gabriel hadn't ever expected things to balloon like this. He liked cooking; he'd like to say he was good at it. Hells, he knew he was good at it, people were constantly telling him that. They'd told him it since high-school, when he'd started cooking for friends when he went over to see them- melting pots of chocolate over bowls of hot water and dipping in fruit or making cakes and barbecue ribs and many-layered lasagna and all sorts. He cooked at home as much as he could, and for some reason his family managed to encourage him to get off his butt and go to a catering college.

He'd done fairly well, but after graduating, he found himself hating every job he took. He'd hated professional kitchens. They were too loud and all his own creativity was stifled. He hated the back-stabbing and the boot-licking, and the fighting. He'd thrown in the towel, done so many odd-jobs he lost count, swearing he wouldn't work in any kitchen other than his own. But he couldn't settle into anything, he didn't seem to fit anywhere; everything he tried was insipid and mindlessly dull.

He had been channel surfing from Castiel's sofa, still in borrowed pyjamas, surrounded by half-completed application forms when he saw it. The local station had air-time, hour-long slots for sale.

He could host a cookery show. He could cook. Be his own boss. He just needed the money.

Castiel footed half the bill. Gabriel didn't have savings; he didn't have property to mortgage, but he scraped what he could together. He called in favors, he begged. He borrowed from friends. God only knew how, but he managed to get people to invest. But Castiel paid most of it, and by rights half the idea was his. It was only fair, and Castiel agreed, although he probably didn't expect to have such a practical hand in the venture. They'd spent so much on the time slot that a crew and a studio had been completely forgotten- at least by Gabriel. Castiel hadn't forgotten, but Castiel never forgot anything, not even the smallest detail. They had a studio kitted out, although Castiel threatened to harvest Gabriel's organs on the black market if they didn't turn a profit. Students from the local drama college worked the camera, only too glad of the opportunity and polite enough not to complain about the meager wage, guided by one or two experienced cameramen.

And that was it. Gabriel was unbearable the first week, suddenly certain that he'd screw up. He practiced and practiced, spent the rest of their money on ingredients and almost wore out Castiel's work surfaces as he rolled and re-rolled pastry, as he chopped and sliced and simmered. He spent hours looking into a mirror, talking to himself and while Gabriel talked a lot normally, the increase had been enough to make Castiel consider smothering him in his sleep.

The day before the first show, Gabriel appeared to have gotten over it. The kitchen was not a last-minute mess, his constant murmurings were curiously absent. For the first time in almost three months, they didn't mention the show or the studio. The world was at peace. Maybe, just maybe, this wasn't going to be the disaster Castiel feared.

The next morning, Gabriel wasn't anywhere to be found. They had ten minutes and counting to go before they found him, hiding in the back-seat of Castiel's car and protesting he couldn't do it. Castiel had to drag him back, shove him behind the long counter just before the countdown started. Five. Four. Three. Two...

Gabriel saw the bright "on air" light flash at the back of the studio, and he had seen Castiel's face fall as for the first few seconds Gabriel was a rabbit caught in the headlights, and Gabriel could see all their money, all their hard work and all his dreams slowly draining away and disappearing forever. He'd ruined them both. He took a breath, forcing all those thoughts away as he smiled at the camera, and his audience. The rest, as they said, was history...

"And that is how you make a pear and chocolate and hazelnut-crunch meringue cake. It's the ultimate in swanky desserts, or if, like me, you know you deserve a little treat every once in a while." Gabriel said, sneaking a crumbling piece of the dessert and popping it into his mouth with a cheeky grin, swallowing it down and then licking his fingers clean. "I'm afraid you're going to have to leave me here to finish this up, but I'll see you next week for another edition of Kitchen Heaven with special guests..."

The rest was said on auto-pilot now, his attention still on the camera, but he could hear Castiel counting down to the end of the slot, thanking the camera crew and the lighting guys for another great episode. The credits rolled a moment later, and then the commercials. That was when Gabriel grabbed up a spoon and the meringue cake and slipped out from behind his counter. Castiel was still distracted when his brother crept up behind him, filling the spoon with dessert and popping it into Cas' mouth as soon as he had the chance. Castiel hated that, but it didn't mean Gabriel ever stopped.

He did, however, let his brother finish choking and spluttering before trying to engage him in conversation. "You really are far too skinny for someone who works on a food show. What are the national networks going to think when they come down here and you greet them? They're going to think all my food tastes like mass-produced crap."

Castiel glared, wiping his mouth on his sleeve. "They wouldn't care what your food tastes like, just how good it looks and how good at presenting you are. And it's running after you that makes me thin. That and-" He pulled the dish from Gabriel, and passed it to one of the cameramen, as well as the spoon. "The stress. Have you made a decision? About hiring more people?"

The groan was all the answer he needed.

"I didn't think you had. I hired someone anyway. He's only part-time, I did the math and we can afford it. He's another student so he might not be here in the summer, but we'll have to make do." And with that, Castiel was going through his clipboard again and moving away.

"Cas, Cas! No! This isn't fair. You can't just... hire more people. We're like a family. You and me and the crew. I mean, we manage..."

"No, no we don't! I can't do everything, Gabriel. Between organizing every show and going through rehearsals and finding guests and doing all the prep before each show? I just don't have time."

Gabriel's face twisted, and Castiel braced himself for the whining that would inevitably follow. But instead Gabriel just sighed and shrugged. "Fine. This guy's on probation though. If I don't like him or he makes trouble or he doesn't get on with everyone, he goes. Deal?"

"Deal." Castiel said, with raised eyebrows as Gabriel slipped passed him, chasing after what little of the dessert was left and not yet demolished by the crew.

Gabriel knew that really he wasn't the best sort of brother. Despite the amount of energy he put into things he enjoyed, he was in fact incredibly lazy when it came to doing anything else that needed to be done. He didn't like washing up after he cooked, and as he liked to do impressive, extravagant things with many pots and pans and bowls, that left Castiel to do the washing up. They could have bought a dishwasher, but Castiel's kitchen was small, and having one fitted meant losing out on shelf space. And that would mean less space for ingredients, and Gabriel wouldn't entertain that idea for a second. He was an artist, he said, and artists had to have all their materials on hand, because inspiration could strike at any moment.

And that meant that Castiel was often woken at ridiculous hours of the night by the whirling of the food processor or some other gadget Gabriel had found online.

He'd never noticed how much Castiel did for him. He was busy too, just... not as busy as Castiel. But he made a conscious effort the next few days to notice exactly what Castiel did. He did the majority of the house work, minus the food shopping and the cooking. He woke Gabriel up. He fielded calls from the station, from the studio, from the local media and any of the bigwigs of the city who wanted to appear on the show. He came back to make sure Gabriel really was getting out of bed. And then he came in, left the light on and played the radio loudly until Gabriel had no choice but to get up. At the studio he made sure everything was ready- he did all the damn prep for the dishes, while Gabriel was getting makeup done and schmoozing with their guests or talking with the crew. He smoothed over any last-minute panics. He counted them in; he made sure the auto-cue was there and running if Gabriel needed it. He directed the cameras, he helped tidy up afterwards, he made sure everything was done as it should be.

Gabriel was amazed. Frankly, he just assumed his mousey little brother had bloomed into someone that enjoyed bossing people around, that he liked being busy. But over the few days before their new gofer arrived, Gabriel realized that Castiel did all the jobs that had to be done, that no one else was doing. Or wanted to do. No one else was going to volunteer to do the prep, after all. Gabriel wasn't about to do it, although he was happy to complain if it wasn't done right. Castiel was overworked, and considering everything, he was underpaid too. Hells, Gabriel was underpaid, but he got the letters from old ladies telling him his recipes were delicious, or suggesting new ones. He was recognized on the street. He was the one who got all the other rewards when Castiel got none.

But Castiel was right. They needed help. And if taking on another pair of hands, even student ones that probably had no idea how to chop or peel properly and couldn't weigh ingredients the right way. But they needed those hands, they needed to take some of the pressure of Castiel.

Gabriel was just going to have to bite the bullet and train up whatever long-haired, spaced out idiot they ended up with. He wasn't exactly looking forward to it, but he was going to start pulling some weight. Well, maybe doing the laundry. Maybe he'd set an alarm. If the new guy was too much hassle, Castiel could teach him what he needed to know. Castiel had endless patience for difficult people.

The new guy was apparently coming in three hours before they aired. He wanted to meet everyone, Castiel said, and they had to show him around and then get him to work, show him the ropes. Gabriel was only on his first coffee of the day when he was told all of this, so it didn't immediately sink in. Castiel was clearing up the breakfast plates by the time it did, which was a good thing, as Gabriel's head hit the tabletop in front of him and he groaned. That meant they were going to go to the studio early. That meant more time stood around bored while Castiel ran around like a headless chicken, or, most likely, having to teach the new kid to bleed over the sink when he cut himself. So Gabriel dragged his feet as much as he could, but Castiel wasn't about to let him slack off.

That meant they fought. They didn't fight often, because Castiel had self-control and fighting someone who didn't fight back was like screaming at a brick wall. But today Castiel seemed to have had enough, and when Gabriel started complaining about having to leave so early, about missing his show, Castiel pulled the power out of the TV, threw Gabriel's coat at him and glared. Castiel's glare was a rare, elusive creature, nasty and dangerous and it normally stopped Gabriel in whatever foolish endeavor he was engaging in. But not today. He snatched up his coat from his lap and glared back, muttering that Castiel had no life, he only worked, worked worked and then he bitched when anyone else dared to want something else.

It was not the best thing to say. Especially as it hadn't really been a mutter at all. Gabriel had wanted his brother to hear every word. And he had.

"How dare you! You know exactly how much work I put into the show! When you came to me to help you, I did it! You are the most ungrateful-"

"Oh shut up, Cas. It's not like you didn't get anything. You own half of it!"

That made Castiel glare all the harder, and open the front door of the apartment and stomp down the stairs. "And that's worthless unless I force you to make an effort! I've just sold myself into slavery until this great idea falls on its face, like all your other ideas!"

Gabriel had no answer to that, but it was a stab to the heart and a knock to his confidence. The sadness was easily covered for the moment by anger, and he followed Castiel, making sure to slam the apartment door as hard, stomping down the stairs as loudly as he could, cursing all the way. Castiel had no right to say anything like that, to throw everything back in Gabriel's face like that. But he had, and there was no taking the words back now. They just sat in Gabriel's head and festered all the way to the car, the silence growing between them and becoming just as bitter as the words had ever been. Castiel normally apologized first, but today no apology seemed forthcoming.

They were halfway to the studio, over twenty minutes of thick, painful silence and angry thoughts before Castiel sighed one of his usual, deep sighs. That was when Gabriel looked up from fidgeting with his phone, and silently congratulated himself. Castiel was in the wrong, Castiel could apologise, and if he held out long enough, he'd always do it first.

"Look, I'm sorry, Gabriel. I didn't mean those things. But today is going to be hard work and I need your help. No complaining, no groaning, no rolling your eyes. That's all I'm asking. One day."

There was a moment longer, just a heartbeat of silence afterwards, before Gabriel, too, sighed. This was how it worked. How you pretended it was all such a terrible effort, and that it was a hardship. Castiel never believed it, he was too used to Gabriel's ways by now, but his brother did it all the same. "Fine. Alright. I'll help out with the rookie today. But if he's an ass, he's out."

Castiel nodded, and while the rest of the journey continued in silence, it wasn't as heavy and as foreboding as before.

Not that Gabriel's bad mood completely dispersed by the time they arrived, and it didn't help that there were waifs and strays hanging around the studio either. Not actual strays of the four-legged kind because Gabriel would have insisted in taking in any lost dogs that they found. This was just a human, probably one of the nuts that hoped Gabriel would make their great-great-great grandmother's famous chicken gumbo on live TV and hope them secure some sort of deal with Kraft or something.

"Cas, slow down. I'm going to jump out here and go round the back. You deal with the recipe-monger, okay?"

And before Castiel could reply, or even stop the car, he jumped out, heading towards the reception to go the long way round. Hopefully by the time he navigated Becky, the studio manager's chatty PA, Castiel would have got rid of whoever it was hanging around.

He was utterly horrified when he came through the double doors and into the Kitchen Heaven set that not only was Castiel making coffee, he'd invited the guy in.

"Cas!" he groaned, before both turned away from the breakfast bar to look at him.

He'd been planning to complain. To say that they couldn't possibly make any more recipes than they already were, that he needed weeks of preparation and all the shows were planned months in advance- even if it wasn't true. But all of the words caught in his throat, leaving his tongue dry. He couldn't force them, couldn't if he tried, because frankly there was nothing to say. Maybe "wow". Gabriel's lips formed it, shaped it and he felt the weight of it, but not a sound escaped him. He didn't embarrass himself.

But the giant of a man was gorgeous, and that was high praise, reserved for the rarest of ingredients or the most ingenious of culinary creations and never used for anything as lowly as a hot guy. Whoever this recipe-monger was, Gabriel was seriously considering breaking his own rules and making whatever horrible concoction his granny had come up with. He'd even taste it, on live TV, and pretend it was edible. Maybe he wouldn't go that far, but it was tempting. It just depended on how long he was allowed to look at recipe-pusher for, and exactly how bad cola-basted cabbage and crab-stick salad, or whatever it was turned out to be.

Luckily Castiel stepped in before any more disgusting dishes could be imagined. He stood, pressed a freshly brewed cup of coffee into Gabriel's hands and gave him a pointed look. After so long, Castiel could read his brother like a book. Like a picture book. He knew when Gabriel was thinking terrible things, and he knew when to step in and prevent anything too mortifying from happening. "Gabriel. Gabriel. This is Sam. He's here for his first day. He's going to be your Preparation Assistant."

Gabriel nodded slowly, absorbing this information as he took a swallow from the cup. Mostly sugar, lots of milk. Castiel was trying to butter him up after their fight. Normally he rationed the sugar as much as he could- sometimes Gabriel was sure he just waved the bag over the cup. But no, this time there was sugar, real beautiful, delicious sugar. And with it, he could take on anything. The caffeine was already working it's magic, massaging tense muscles and unravelling the knots in his brain, making him fit to join the rest of humanity.

"Sam? Samwich? Sambi? Sam. Right. It's good to meet you." He said, in response to the unamused expression on the student's face. "Has Castiel told you we're looking forward to having you here? No? Well, we have. We desperately need someone who knows how to peel potatoes properly."

Castiel rolled his eyes, then picked up the papers left on the breakfast bar. "We'll fill in the rest of these forms later, Sam. They're not urgent," he promised as he slipped passed Gabriel, apparently happy to abandoned Sam to his fate now that Gabriel was no longer a fire-breathing dragon. But before he could get very far, Gabriel had caught hold of his elbow.

"You never told me he was hot!" he hissed, although not very quietly, if the red blush that spread over Sam's face was anything to go by. Not that Gabriel noticed. Castiel, on the other hand, went pale and looked more than a little disapproving.

"I can't say I noticed," he said, and pulled his arm free, disappearing into the shadows beyond the bright studio lights, leaving Sam alone with Gabriel. The silence that followed was much less angry than the one he'd survived before, in the car, but it was far more nervous.

"Er..."

"Don't worry, kiddo," Gabriel laughed as he patted Sam's arm. He wasn't a short man himself, not really, not in the grand scheme of things. But the height on this boy was ridiculous. "You're far too young for me. Castiel will tell you I'm not interested unless you're edible. And there's no meat on you."

"Oh... okay then," the giant said, and let Gabriel lead him towards the main kitchen area of the sound-stage.

It wasn't so bad, being in early. True, he'd missed most of Doctor Sexy, all of his usual talk shows and probably some really hilarious Infomercials. There was coffee on tap- something he was never allowed when the cameras were rolling, and Sam was actually a pretty fast learner. Apparently he didn't cook, not even at the weekends- just tipped bagged salads into bowls or had take-away or ate what his brother brought home. Gabriel was torn between believing it and not- but the first ten minutes proved that Sam really had no knife skills whatsoever. The first half hour of their lesson couldn't be called anything less than a disaster, with several near-misses and one deep nick across Sam's pinky from one of the Japanese knives. Castiel had plasters on hand at least, and after that short, sharp shock, Sam seemed to get it. He was still slower than Gabriel when it came to it, but he was faster than Cas, and Gabriel couldn't help but watch him blitz through the vegetables put in front of him, carefully putting them in the little bowls lined up next to his board. He was so focused, so intent on what he was doing that it was almost mesmerizing to watch.

When there was nothing left though but the tops and tells of onions, peppers and the skins of mushrooms though, Sam looked up, wiping his forehead on his sleeve and grinning fit to burst.

Gabriel had never, ever seen dimples like that. "So how am I doing?"

Gabriel forced himself to shrug. "Well, we'll see. Veggies are easy. I'm getting you onto the hard stuff now." Then his lips twisted into a wicked smirk. "How are you with kneading?"

They couldn't pretend the first show went off without a hitch. Sam had to stay ducked down behind the counter, out of sight of the camera and hand Gabriel stuff or take out trash as necessary. They hadn't worked out that Sam was taller than most and once the little bowls of ingredients were moved, the top of his head was easily seen. Not to mention when Sam accidentally handed him the wrong stuff and Gabriel had to nudge him with a foot.

But it could have been worse. Gabriel could have tripped over those long legs when he was going back and forth to the fridge or the oven. Sam could have taken that nudge the wrong way, assumed Gabriel was angry with him. He might have thought Gabriel wanted him to move, rather than pass up the other bowl, and then they would have ended up with even more of him in the shot. He could have made some sort of noise. Preparation Assistants were, after all the secret weapon of television cook shows. They weren't seen, they weren't talked about. They were like fluffers in porn. Although that was a bad thought to have, especially as he had enough trouble getting the pastry right when there was a hot guy on his knees inches away.

That probably wasn't the worst thing in the world that could have happened. No one chopped off their fingers. He didn't set fire to the sound-stage. All in all, it was actually a good show. And that was what Castiel said as the cameras stopped and Gabriel resumed his slouch, moving back to behind the counter where Sam sat. He was just about to get to his feet, and seemed pleasantly surprised when he was offered a hand up.

"I'm sorry about... back then. I just forgot the order and-"

"Nope, no apologies necessary. You did a great job!"

"Really?"

Gabriel tilted his head, giving Sam a look. It was indulgent, but there was something else in it, something that said clearly Sam should just accept the compliments. "Yeah. There are always hiccups. The point is, you keep going! That's what cooking is all about. And live TV too, I guess. But I know more about cooking than that. Want some pie? All hand-made!" He added then, the apple-pie that had been cooking during the show cool enough now to eat.

Sam began to nod, then paused. "Actually, I was... I was going to ask if I could take it home?"

Gabriel looked at him for a moment longer than he should have done clearly, because the young man started to backtrack, suddenly embarrassed. "It was just a stupid thought, I know that you probably don't-"

"No, no! Why not? You helped make it. I mean, the one I did on the show is still in the oven. Yeah. You made this. You should have it. Perks of the job." Gabriel gave him a cheeky grin, eyebrows wriggling. "Especially if you're a bit of a pie fan, huh?"

As usual, Gabriel and he were the last to leave that night. Castiel had a great deal to oversee, and while Gabriel said he was "always fussing and fidgeting", Castiel knew it was up to him to make sure everything was done as it should be. They said after all that if you wanted something done right you had to do it yourself, and Castiel believed that. Or at least, he believed that it was better if he did it, not Gabriel. Gabriel would only do half a job if he was asked to do anything, so Castiel might as well do it himself in the first place. But tonight was different. Castiel didn't know what had gotten into him, but this time Gabriel was helping, happily and without complaint, even whistling as he finished wiping down the last of the surfaces until they were sparkling. Gabriel was usually a very happy person, so the whistling wasn't unusual, even if it was irritating, but he hadn't ever been so content to be doing chores. Especially voluntarily.

"Are you sure you're alright? Not tired?" Castiel had to ask. He'd asked already, probably about four times since the rest of the crew had left. Gabriel had already assured him he was fine, it was just that Castiel didn't believe him, and well, perhaps if he asked when Gabriel was distracted enough, then he'd get a different answer. A more believable answer.

"Huh? I told you, I'm good."

"Sam told me you gave him that apple pie to take home."

"Yeah, why?" Gabriel asked, straightening up and frowning. "He's a student. You hear about them starving and buying books with their lunch money."

"I thought you were going to give it to the crew."

"Sam counts as the crew. Besides, they've had my apple pie before. And he asked for it. I couldn't say no."

Castiel didn't push it any further. It wasn't worth it and it wasn't his place to get involved. Whatever strange idea Gabriel had got into his head could stay there, even if it was one that was going to potentially, no, almost certainly cause them a lot of trouble down the line. Sam was a nice boy, too nice to be studying anything as cutthroat as law, but Castiel doubted that he would be happy when he discovered that Gabriel considered him a charity case that needed to be fed and watered and watched over.

So he sighed. Gabriel was an adult, old enough to get himself out of, as well as in to, all his own problems.

The next few shows ran far more smoothly. Each week they seemed to improve, the become more slick, more natural. And each week, Sam took home a little something they'd made either during or before the show. His skills were noticeably better, and even more surprisingly, Gabriel was actively encouraging him. He would go in early, earlier than he needed to be for prep or rehearsal, earlier than Castiel sometimes, getting the bus across the city if need be and that, for Gabriel who never put himself out for anyone, was remarkable.

It was strange, yes, but Gabriel seemed to be filled with renewed interest in cooking, not just for the show and for syndications and interviews and fame, but for the pure joy to be had in it. He was proud of his work, of his skill and he was proud of Sam, who showed far more interest in learning than Castiel ever had done.

It made Castiel wonder if Gabriel - if their show never got off the ground - would be better off teaching at a community college; something small and relaxed and fun. After all, what he was teaching Sam what a rolling boil was and how to make salad-dressing and how to be confident in a kitchen. It was a joy to watch.

He had to share the idea. The possibility of Gabriel teaching. Giving up TV. It didn't go well, but Gabriel didn't seem angry. He just laughed. "Teach? Me? Cas, don't be stupid. I couldn't teach people to open a can of soup, never mind how to cook."

Castiel didn't have the heart to tell Gabriel that part of the job of a TV chef was to help people learn how to cook.

Sam never stayed too late after the shows. He had school work, everyone understood that, and law wasn't a subject you could just coast by on. You had to work at it, and there were times when he even brought books in to read after all the prep was done and there was nothing else to do until they hit the air, grumbling and muttering to himself about Finch versus the State of Ohio or something. He always offered to help out afterwards, of course, but it was rare that Castiel accepted, happy to work his brother to the bone instead, or at least try to.

So the day that Sam came back into the studio a good ten minutes after the rest of the crew had gone, soaked from a sudden rain shower and with a face like a kicked puppy, Gabriel found himself making another cup of coffee and handing it over.

"Couldn't resist the pleasure of our company, huh?" He joked, but it wasn't enough to turn Sam's frown upside down.

"The car's not working. I had a look under the hood, but no luck."

Castiel came over then, like a mother hen, fussing and trying to find Sam a towel. Gabriel rolled his eyes and that at least got a bit of a grin. "Do you want us to drive you home, Sam?" Cas offered then, when the towel was refused.

"No, no really, guys. I called my brother. He's going to come and pick me up. I don't want to cause you any trouble."

"No trouble at all kiddo. We'll wait though, okay? Studios are really creepy if you're in them by yourself."

"No, you honestly don't have to-"

"No?" Gabriel smirked, leaning in, "It isn't your brother coming to get you, is it? It's your hot older girlfriend, huh? What is she, one of your professors?"

The look Sam gave him then was priceless. "What? No! It's my brother, I just..." He seemed to consider his options, and then gave up. "Thank you for waiting. I'd appreciate it."

It was decided then, and Sam brought in the bags from the back of the car, as well as the loose books. Gabriel found some cookies he'd made on the sly, planning to eat by himself later, instead he generously shared them out. With hot chocolate and good conversation, it really didn't feel like half an hour, but that was how long it took for Sam's brother to arrive and start hammering on the door, shouting for Sam like he was a kid lost at a fair.

"Sorry," Sam murmured, wincing slightly as the door shook on it's hinges before anyone could get to it. Once Gabriel pulled it open though, the drenched guy on the other side looked at him suspiciously, green eyes glaring. He was tall- not as tall as Sam but just as solid- and it was probably solid muscle too. If he wanted to floor Gabriel, he wouldn't have had any difficulty, and he probably wouldn't have paid any doctor's bills either. He just didn't look the type.

"Dean! Dean! This is Gabriel, and Castiel! They're my bosses. They waited with me." Sam said, getting up and crossing the room, like a fireman pouring water on a fire. Or, Gabriel thought, the wife of a really, really jealous ass-hat.

But the explanation seemed to cool any issues the other man had, and then he grinned. "You're the TV chef, right? The one who made the pies and the cake that Sammy brought home?"

"Well, er, yeah, I guess. Sam's helping."

"That stuff's really good, you know? I didn't think pie you made at home tasted like that. I thought you had to add E-numbers and chemicals and stuff."

That made Gabriel's face twist, and he suddenly remembered what Sam had said on his first day. They didn't cook, did they? They ate takeaway or TV-dinners or whatever that crap was called. Gabriel didn't understand it. How could two guys that looked like Sam and Dean Winchester live off that sort of stuff? When he cooked all his own stuff and yet... yet... It just wasn't fair, another of those quirks of life that made you feel there really wasn't any justice.

But Dean, at least, seemed interested in proper food. Gabriel had no concerns about telling him all about how easy it was to make pie at home, even if you didn't make the pastry, because that was fiddly and honestly he hardly ever bothered. Dean seemed surprised at that revelation, but laughed and admitted he'd tried to cook, once upon a time when Sam was little, but everything he made was completely inedible, and he'd just given up.

They were still talking twenty minutes later, when Sam spoke up. "Dean, I've got school work to do tonight. I'm sorry but-"

It was the polite equivalent of a child's can we go now? and it made Gabriel stumble a little on his words. He'd completely forgotten that Sam was there, or that Castiel was there with his Tupperware boxes of leftovers. "Er, sorry. I didn't realize. I guess we better be going to, right Cas?"

Dean didn't exactly seem pleased with the interruption either, but he just sighed as he helped Sam with some of his books. "Nice meeting you guys. Thanks for the pastry tips, Gabe."

They headed out, into the rain and towards the sleek black car parked up alongside Sam's station wagon, and Gabriel and Castiel watched until it disappeared into the darkness. Gabriel couldn't describe the feeling in the pit of his stomach right then, but it was uneasy. He didn't say a word as he climbed in the passenger side of their own car and went home.

"I just don't see why he won't date him."

Sam looked up from the butter he was melting, giving Gabriel a confused look. "So, wait. Let me get this straight. The station manager's been asking him out, how long now?"

"Since we started recording here. Almost eighteen months now, I guess? Balthazar's sent him flowers and offered to take him out to fancy restaurants. All sorts of things, really. He always wants to know how he is. But Cas just... I don't know."

"Maybe he just isn't your brother's type?"

"Castiel doesn't have a type. He's... honestly? I don't think Castiel has ever dated anyone. Ever. Not even in school when you held hands and made out by the bleachers. He just... doesn't. Some cute girl gave him her number once, and you know what he did? He put it in his address book and left it! He left it! Sometimes I think he's just scared of people. You know, relationships."

"And seeing Balthazar would be good for him?"

Gabriel grinned, a wide grin that stretched from ear to ear, the sort of grin that was full of mischief and that Sam was beginning to appreciate, or if it was directed at him, fear. "Well, it wouldn't be bad for him, right? Besides, we need Balthazar! Without him we have no chance of getting syndication!"

Sam laughed, shaking his head as he stretched, watching as Gabriel went back to peeling and coring the pears for some tart or torte he was making. When Gabriel was cooking, everything else paled. There was just something fascinating in the way his hands worked, the tiny, careful delicate movements he made with a knife so sharp that Sam wouldn't have dared use it. But there was Gabriel, making art. That was what he was doing, Sam realized. He made art, with food. And he did it because he liked it, he liked food and he liked people, feeding them something beautiful and delicious was like a private one-sitting only exhibition. But then he caught himself looking, cleared his throat and went back to work.

It was a good thing he did too, because it was at that moment that the double doors at the end of the studio swung open dramatically and a man in dark skinny jeans and a v-neck shirt walked in. There wasn't anything ordinary about the way he looked, even his clothes were slightly strange, but it was the pose that made Sam stop and watch him. He walked in as if he owned the place.

"That's Balthazar," Gabriel murmured, and Sam supposed that explained it. That was when Gabriel moved, wiping his hands clean on a towel and heading towards the blond man, wrapping his arms around him in a hug. "Have you got any news? Heard from any sponsors?"

"Gabe, Gabe! I'll let you know when I hear, won't I? Trust me, you'd be the first to know, I promise. But that's not why I'm here. Where's Castiel?"

"Er, he was..." Gabriel began, and although the station manager seemed completely disinterested, Sam could see how completely crestfallen Gabriel looked. "He was here a second ago."

But then there was a soft noise, something that sounded a lot like damn! from the shadows beyond the cameras, and in the reflections of the studio lights, there was Castiel, on his knees and picking up the papers he'd dropped.

"Aha. If you'll excuse me, gentlemen." With that drawl, Balthazar was gone, picking his way through the equipment that was being set up, like a tiger picking it's way through the forest. Before he reached him, Castiel looked up and saw him coming, and the glare he sent in Sam and Gabriel's direction was positively ugly. If Castiel could have done so, Sam knew that he would have struck them both down at that moment.

"I really... don't know if your brother's that into him. I don't know, maybe Castiel just isn't into anyone?"

Gabriel sighed, but he didn't give the idea any real consideration. "No, I don't think so. I mean... he might not have dated anyone, but I'm pretty sure he has crushes. I mean, for years he had posters of this guy, some actor, on his bedroom wall and he used to get all doe-eyed if you mentioned him. I think he used to kiss it good night, actually." He glanced back, watching Balthazar and his brother.

Balthazar was leaning in, reaching out to touch his arm and Castiel let him, didn't pull away. Maybe he seemed a little apprehensive, but that was Castiel's constant state of being. He was nervous when he ordered books online, he was nervous when he had to drive somewhere new, he was nervous when the phone rang. Besides, people got nervous around their crushes, right? That's what he'd heard, even if he'd never experienced it himself.

"Look at him. No! Don't make it obvious that you're looking! Be sneaky, Sammy! Haven't you ever spied on people before? Side-long, like you're talking to me and not watching. Just glance, out of the corner of your eye. See? If he didn't like him, he'd just tell him, right? He wouldn't let him get all touchy-feely."

Sam shifted, moving as he was told and he did see what Gabriel meant. The station manager was all over Castiel, his hand brushing up and down from Castiel's shoulder to his elbow, and Castiel wasn't protesting. He didn't look uncomfortable really, just shy and unsure how to react. You saw it every single day in every corridor in every single high-school in the country. It was just that Castiel was a very, very late bloomer. Maybe if he did agree to go and get a drink, or have a meal or something with Balthazar, it would give his confidence the boost he needed.

"I think they're coming back," he murmured, and Gabriel moved like lightning, heading to the fridge and humming softly as he loudly knocked jars together, like he was searching for something, leaving Sam floundering as he tried to look like he'd been productive for the last five minutes.

"See you, Cas!" Balthazar called, and then behind him the double doors banged shut, leaving the sound-stage in silence, apart from Gabriel's now slightly-irritating humming and his muttering about yak butter. It went on and on in the silence, horrible and uncomfortable, until that cloud reached Gabriel and the fridge, and he trailed off.

"You were both watching. Gabriel, I always know when you've been eavesdropping on me. Sam, don't pick up his bad habits, please." Castiel said, trying to look stern but his cheeks seemed flushed and he was fidgeting.

"I wasn't eavesdropping. I couldn't hear a word you were saying!" Gabriel said, coming back to the counter, kicking the fridge door shut and propping up his chin in his hand, elbows on the work-surface. He looked like one of the girls from Grease, waiting to hear the latest gossip, and it took Sam all the willpower not to laugh. Gabriel picked up on that though, winking at him as Castiel settled himself on one of the bar-seats reserved normally for their special guests. "So, what'd he say?"

Castiel squirmed, glancing down and unwilling to meet anyone's eyes. "He asked me out for a drink, this weekend. I said I didn't know, that we were all very busy at the moment-"

"Not that busy, Castiel! If you wanted to find the time, we'll make the time!" Gabriel insisted.

"Well..."

"You like him, don't you?" Sam asked, a little more gently, and Castiel looked up at him, surprised at the question.

"He's... nice. I'm sure he's very nice. Maybe... I'll see how much work we've finished by Friday."

And then he was off, slipping down off the chair and heading back to whatever paperwork he was doing at that moment, and Gabriel offered his hand out to Sam under the cover of the counter for a low-five.

"See? He totally is into it." Gabriel said as their hands touched, and maybe touched for a second longer than necessary.

"I think you might be right. Do you think he will? Go out with Balthazar on Friday, I mean?"

There was a shrug then, as Gabriel moved back to his chopping board, before stopping and pulling his phone from his pocket instead. "I'll let you know, huh? Come on, give me your number. And Dean's, too. I didn't get the chance to ask for it the other day."

The sudden rush Sam felt move through him, the sudden happiness that made him tingle and his stomach clench, suddenly stopped and became a cold stone, weighing him down. What the hell was wrong with him? He had a crush on his boss, that was it. A guy double his age, maybe just less than that. A guy who was friendly and laughed and flirted, and who was a self-confessed tease- he'd even said it while licking cream off his fingers- but a guy who was far more interested in Dean.

Dean who was... what? Less gangly and stupid and annoying, probably. A guy who looked like some sort of pin-up. A guy who'd shown up as a hero, to rescue his baby brother and then hung on every word Gabriel had said. Dean hadn't shown interest in cooking for years. Not since they'd been in high-school and if Dean didn't feed them, they didn't eat. But now they didn't bother and the oven was only used to warm up cold food and recipes Gabriel gave him to take home.

That was when he realized. Gabriel had given him food, sweets and desserts and cookies and pies after almost every show. Even stuff they hadn't made, he'd cooked it specially while the oven was hot, or while they were preparing other recipes. It had been for Dean. Dean who'd praised the food Sam had brought home, Dean who had the sweet tooth, Dean who could eat his way through a whole pie by himself given half the chance. Gabriel had really started doing it since he met Dean. He was flirting with Dean, through food.

And it made Sam feel sick.

But he'd been silent too long, because Gabriel was watching him with worried eyes. He swallowed down his stupid feelings, silently laughing at himself for ever being so blind to what was happening around him, and read out the numbers.

Dean insisted that he drive Sam into the studio that day. He'd got a few days off, and was apparently was bored of daytime TV already. Sam thought it would never happen, but it had and now he was going to pay for the fact that the writers of Doctor Sexy hadn't come up with a plot that was good enough to hold Dean's attention. The idea of visiting the studio, that really seemed to have sparked Dean's imagination and he spent most of the drive over talking about what he thought they should make. The texts Gabriel had sent him were probably full of pictures of the weird treats Gabriel had invented in the middle of the night and flirtatious invitations for Dean to try them. All Gabriel messaged Sam about what what he was doing that day, asking if he was busy with college work. He said he was, just so Gabriel wouldn't feel that he had to invite Sam out as well as Dean to whatever fun thing they were doing. It just wasn't fair.

Sam was in a terrible mood by the time they arrived, slamming the door of the Impala and ignoring Dean's complaint. He just didn't care at that moment and while he knew that was wrong, he wasn't much looking forward to work. He could have coped if it was just him and Gabriel and Castiel and the rest of the crew, having a bit of fun before filming started, but if Dean was going to be there, then Sam had no doubts that Gabriel would much rather talk to him, and he'd simply be under foot.

He pulled open the door, walking straight into Castiel, Dean right behind him forcing them back into the studio, and into a wall. "Ouch! Castiel, I'm sorry I..."

"It's okay, Sam, accidents happen." Castiel said, cursing the headset in his hands that was well and truly broken. "Well, that was going to be yours but... Never mind," he murmured, before he looked up properly, and past Sam. "Oh, it's Dean, isn't it? Are you going to be watching us film today? You're welcome to," Castiel said, moving out of the way and gesturing them in, smiling. It wasn't the sort of tired smile that Castiel normally wore after a successful day, but something more than that. Maybe he'd been on a date with Balthazar, maybe it had all gone well.

Sam ducked in, moving away from where Castiel was already talking to Dean, and went to find Gabriel. He was surprised Dean was dallying, but maybe there was a form Castiel was going to find, something about health and safety if Dean really did want to stay on set. He could leave them to it for a moment, he was sure.

Not that he expected Gabriel to be very happy with Dean hanging back. He didn't expect Gabriel to want to see him either, not when he could speak to Dean instead. But Gabriel didn't brush him to one side, but waved him over excitedly, before dunking a wooden spoon in a bowl set over a pan on the stove and pulling it out laden with thick shiny chocolate sauce.

"Come here! Come on, you're my taster! Try this!" He called out, almost bouncing up and down on the spot. Frankly, it was adorable that a grown man could act so excitedly about desserts, like a kid talked about the presents he thought he'd get at Christmas.

"Alright, alright!" He laughed, moving closer. Gabriel had a way of lifting people's moods. He might be loud and rude and nine times out of ten he was a complete pain in the ass, but Sam at that moment didn't want anyone but Gabriel to talk to.

He opened his mouth obediently when he reached the other, half expecting most of the chocolate to be painted over his nose. But that didn't happen. Gabriel got up onto tiptoes, bracing himself against the edge of the counter, lifting the spoon to Sam's mouth and catching any lost drips with his other hand. Gently, carefully, he popped the spoon into Sam's mouth. Why Gabriel insisted on getting Sam to try these things he never knew, but he was glad he did, because whatever was in the chocolate spread fire through his tongue, down through every nerve in his spine like a fork of lightning and for a moment all he could do was taste. He couldn't think, couldn't articulate anything, not even a noise of pleasure or approval. The milliseconds dragged on though, and as he watched he could see Gabriel's face beginning to fall, uncertainty setting in.

"So...?" he asked, and for the first time, Sam thought Gabriel sounded nervous.

He patted him on the shoulder though and laughed. He might not like sweet things, but the tingle on his tongue was almost too strange not to want to experience again, just the buzz from a low-volt electric fence, so he dipped his finger into the pan, cursing the heat, and then sucked the sauce off.

"It's amazing. What's in it?"

"Secret! Top secret! But it's my extra-special topping for profiteroles."

"If you're making them on the show though, won't everyone-" Sam began, but Gabriel was laughing, just in time for Dean and Castiel to arrive, and Castiel to start making coffee.

"I'm not making them for the show. They're just for today, a special treat." And with that he reached for the under-the-counter fridge, the one which stored all the here's-one-I-made-earlier food, and set it down on the countertop. Dean made a low whistle, already reaching out for one, and Gabriel let him. He never normally let people take food before he gave the go-ahead, but that whistle had stroked his ego and made him suddenly forgiving.

Castiel giggled drunkenly, licking chocolate and cream from his fingers and leaning against Dean to stop himself slipping off the stool, and Dean carefully moved Castiel's glass away. They'd split the remainder of the rum four ways as they ate, and so far it was Cas that seemed to be suffering the most.

"Remind me: less rum," Gabriel muttered to Sam, who was glad that Gabriel seemed more amused than jealous as Castiel's giggling made conversation with Dean almost impossible. They descended into just watching him sway, until Dean gave in and wrapped an arm around the thinner man's shoulders.

"Let's go get you a drink of water, huh, Cas? Gabe? I'll be back in a minute, in time for the show."

Gabriel's eyes widened, and he jumped off the stool and turned, searching for his watch. "Shit! Sammy! We're not ready!"

They were more ready than Gabriel might have thought. Most of the ingredients were chopped and measured out, and it was only chicken breast left to prepare, but Sam took care of that as Gabriel downed another two mugs of coffee and went for make-up.

"Definitely less rum," Gabriel repeated as the countdown began, undertaken by another member of the crew, since Castiel was quietly asleep somewhere. Gabriel had been more than grateful when Dean had returned, pressing a fresh, black coffee into Dean's hands before running off to check on his brother. It was just the way he liked, according to Dean, sans milk or sugar and with that old, slightly bitty taste of all roadside diners everywhere. Clearly such thoughtfully made coffee made Dean feel better, even if it didn't do anything for Sam's feelings of jealousy.

The first half of the show, despite the disasters that ran through Sam's mind- tipsy chefs, sharp knives and live televised broadcasts did not a happy combination make- went by without disaster. They had a ten-minute commercial break, enough for Gabriel to swallow down a whole bottle of Evian and for them both to run around trying to get the ingredients out for the next segment.

"You like Dean, don't you?" Sam asked as he set down the little white bowls in the right order on the countertop, within easy reach from the wide, clear area Gabriel was already wiping down. He stopped though, fixing Sam with an er, yeah? expression that made Sam feel stupid for asking.

"What's not to like? I mean, sometimes he's an ass, but mostly he's pretty funny." Gabriel said, and Sam's heart dropped a little. It must have shown on his face, because Gabriel laughed and clapped him on the shoulder. "But no one could replace you, alright, kiddo?"

The thirty second shout came then and Sam pulled away, leaving Gabriel to compose himself before the cameras started rolling. Honestly Sam didn't need thirty seconds, but right then he wanted the space, needed to have a moment to untangle all the thoughts in his head. As it turned out, a moment just wasn't enough, because the tangle wasn't just in his head. But he didn't have the time to sit and think, not at work.

For supper they had the garlic butter-stuffed chicken breast Gabriel had made on the show, the ones Dean had shot-gunned because they were wrapped in bacon. Gabriel had carefully wrapped them in cooking parchment and cooked them gently so they stayed moist and delicious. They weren't meant to be blitzed in a microwave till they were dry, but Dean was running on autopilot once they got home. They were still miles better than the cardboard crap they had in the icebox.

They'd talked idly, about the rust-bucket of a car that Dean was fixing up at Bobby's yard, but Sam was finding it very hard to force himself to care. It wasn't that he wasn't interested, but his heart wasn't in it and there were other things weighing on his mind. He's wanted to bring it up on the drive home but they were already mixing rum, coffee and driving and he didn't want to distract Dean any more. This wasn't going to be the easiest of conversations anyway.

He'd managed to get his courage together during the meal though, even if it did mean half a bottle of beer. That was noting though, in comparison to what Dean could put away in the face of an uncomfortable situation.

"So you enjoyed coming to the studio? I know that Gabriel likes to see you there." Sam began, and maybe it was the hesitation in his voice that got Dean's attention straight away. Sam tried his biggest grin to try and put his brother at ease, but that just made Dean look more suspicious.

"Uh huh..." He replied, not committing to anything.

"I just thought you'd noticed how much...how much Gabriel likes you."

"Yeah? So what?" It was like pulling teeth. Dean wasn't that dense or unaware and Sam could swear that Dean was being difficult on purpose.

"No I mean he like-likes you."

"Are you in highschool? You mean like he likes Cas?"

"Yes. No. Wait, what?" Sam said, his headache getting suddenly worse. It had been bad since the profiteroles but he'd been too polite to say no, even if cream and chocolate and alcohol were too rich for him. Even holding his head in his hands wasn't helping like it usually did.

"They're married, right? I mean, they're gay and a couple and they're always together and they have all these stupid arguments that-"

"Stop! Just stop! No!" It was almost a shout, and for a moment Sam thought Dean was going to continue, because he usually did when Sam sounded especially irritated by something. It was some unwritten rule about being a brother, but in this case, this rare case, Dean shut up. Sam was grateful for that small mercy, although it should have tipped him off that something else was going on too. But he took a breath, watching as Dean reached for his beer and took another long swallow. "They're brothers. That's all. Brothers."

"Okay. That makes sense. Because I really couldn't work out who was pitcher and who-"

"Shut up!" Sam had to shout again, horrified, and desperate to throw something at his brother. "I don't want to know what you've been thinking about my bosses, okay? I have to work with them and that's... that's just wrong."

"You weren't wondering...?"

"No! This is why people think we're gay, okay? For exactly those reasons!"

"But we aren't. I'm not gay. And that would be gross."

Sam slumped back. There was no point continuing. Dean was going to be an ass, was going to make everything a joke. And sometimes that was okay, but sometimes it wasn't, and right now, with his brain boiling in his head and his stomach churning, now was not the time. He was going to get up and start washing up the Tupperware to take back to the studio, but he didn't have the energy. He just wanted to give up. They'd had this fight before. Dean insisting he wasn't gay, which was technically true. Sam had seen him looking at guys, and considering the amount of times Dean took himself out to bars and no one knew where he was, he might easily have done more than look. But he wasn't going to admit it, because he liked women too. Which meant, according to the Winchester hand-book, that you were normal. Their dad had brought them up like that, and while Sam could see it was stupid, that it was wrong, Dean held onto almost everything John Winchester had ever said to him, like it was a sort of gospel truth.

If you were gay, the teachings went, then life would be hard for you. People wouldn't treat you like everyone else. You wouldn't get a job, you wouldn't be invited to the bar with the other guys. You'd be unhappy. And Dean believed that. John Winchester had never know about any of the guys Dean might have made out with drunkenly in senior year, Sam was sworn to secrecy. Dean had seen the fights that John and his youngest son had had, about college and about guys and about what a mess Sam was making of his life. It didn't matter if he liked girls, because people would only remember he liked men too, and that was enough to ruin all his chances. That's what John believed, and that was why he'd gone. He'd left Sam to cope by himself. Or he would have done, but Dean didn't want to go down that road. Dean wouldn't leave him.

Even if sometimes he was an ass. He never actually lost faith in what Sam did. Which was why Sam couldn't lose faith in him.

"I do mean it, though. Gabriel does like you."

Dean sighed, and shrugged, finishing his beer and then getting to his feet, clearing off the table. Fidgeting with something, anything, rather than dealing with feelings. That was Dean. His masculinity, along with his car, was his prized possession and anything that threatened it, feelings or whatever, tended to make Dean uneasy. Or violently defensive. Uneasy was the better option of the two.

"Whatever," he muttered, with a shrug, and that was when Sam gave up. He could talk to his brother, he could try and find out how Dean felt, but when Dean shut down and closed him out, there was nothing more that Sam could do.

"Fine. Deal with it yourself. I'm going to bed." He said, getting up himself and for a second, he just stood there, because he was an idiot, because he was giving Dean one last chance. But Dean kept his back turned, and Sam threw his hands in the air. "You are such a jerk."

Maybe that was the reason Dean was hanging around with with the tech guys instead of with Gabriel and Castiel, maybe he was trying to put some distance between them, unconsciously or maybe even knowingly, getting as far away as he could from what he thought of as an unpleasant situation while still being there for his baby brother. But he did like that sort of stuff, even if he pretended he was too cool for it, and maybe the tech and editing team appreciated his interest.

The techies were were beginning to show Dean how to use the equipment and what really went on behind the scenes, or at least, according to them; beyond the kitchen set-up and the studio floor, the way the whole thing was parcelled together and broadcast, how the signals were sent. Dean was up there while the show aired, waiting for it to be over and for Sam and the others to wrap up before heading back out of the booth. Sam just seemed glad that his brother was out of the way more often than not during filming, that he didn't have a direct view of the studio and couldn't be upsetting Gabriel. The booth was shut off, out of the way and that meant Dean couldn't be distracting. Sam knew it was unlikely, really, but he assumed now that Dean would cause trouble if he was on the defensive, even if it was just by snapping at someone and causing fights. That was the last thing they needed during a live broadcast, and Sam couldn't even begin to image how Castiel and Gabriel would react. It wouldn't be good.

But for the time being, with Dean behaving himself, Sam could breathe easy. Especially when the show was over and Dean came back to the studio floor, grinning widely and more excited than a kid at Christmas as he leant against the counter. He even let Gabriel shove a plate of food towards him. They'd let him help out during the second half, directing some of the cameras and laughing that he should be given a job. It was enough to make Dean act smug, although the very idea of Dean officially working in such close-quarters to Gabriel to make Sam feel sick to the stomach.

Gabriel promised that hiring Dean wasn't about to happen, laughing that one Winchester was enough for anyone. And for a moment it looked like Dean was going to try and defend the family name, but instead he glanced around. "Where's Castiel?"

"Balthazar whisked him off to some secluded corner." Gabriel replied with a filthy wriggle of his eyebrows.

"That's disgusting."

Sam sighed. It wasn't clear what exactly Dean meant, if he meant Gabriel's reaction, or the idea of Castiel off with some man. With Dean it could be either, or both at this point.

"I don't think he's really going to let Balthazar do anything like that."

"Who's Balthazar, anyway?"

Sam moved, shifting to point at the blond man, in another of his stupid v-neck shirts and too-tight jeans. "That's Balthazar. He owns the studio."

Dean didn't think much of him, if the way he snorted out a derisive laugh was anything to go by. He watched Balthazar lean in and leer at Castiel, trying to follow as Castiel muttered an excuse and moved away.

"Do you seriously want your brother to get involved with him?" Dean asked Gabriel as he turned away before Castiel notice he'd been watched. Gabriel just shrugged and passed Castiel a mug of coffee as he sat down.

"End of another long day?" Dean asked him, and Castiel nodded mutely, taking a swallow as Dean squeezed reassuringly at his shoulder.

Sam was sure that Dean would never, ever come to the studio again. Sam had tainted it by making Dean uncomfortable, and Dean normally just refused, flatly, to go anywhere near anything that made him uncomfortable. But he kept coming back, sitting through rehearsals and preps. Castiel never made a big deal of it, although Sam was sure he had enough on his plate without Dean needing to be signed in every day and all the forms that came with having guests on set. But he welcomed Dean with a bright grin, offered him coffee and let him share food with them like the rest of the crew. He didn't need to. Dean had a job to go to, he had his own friends, he had food of his own. Why he kept coming back, Sam didn't know. But he hoped, he honest-to-God hoped that he'd been wrong about Dean.

But it soon became very clear that it wasn't going to happen. It was becoming more and more obvious to Sam that Dean wasn't spending any time alone with Gabriel if he could help it. He always needed Sam or Castiel there as a buffer, as if he was afraid that Gabriel was going to jump his bones if there wasn't a witness. Gabriel seemed not to notice. Maybe he hadn't, but Sam caught him watching Dean sometimes, when he and Castiel were talking beyond the line of cameras and lights and he seemed to deflate a little.

It was Sam's fault. He shouldn't be playing match maker, shouldn't have just blurted it out to Dean when maybe Gabriel wanted to tell him in his own time. Then Dean wouldn't have freaked out and stopped hanging out with Gabriel like he had. But what good would that have done in the end? None. Dean wasn't interested, Gabriel would have gone on thinking they might have something when they didn't have a snowball's chance in hell. In the end it would have been a disaster anyway, and maybe this way Gabriel could see what Dean really was before he got all his feelings stomped on.

He just wished Dean had the balls to admit to Gabriel he just wasn't into him.

Castiel still hadn't been able to get Sam an earpiece; he seemed distracted every time Sam mentioned it. Not in the stressed way he usually did, but generally not focused, as if there was some big cloud hanging over him. Maybe there was, but every time Sam asked him what was wrong, Cas just shook his head and continued on with whatever private errands he had.

Gabriel seemed concerned too, there wasn't anything he could get out of Cas either apparently, although he said not to worry. Cas wasn't very good at keeping secrets, whatever it was playing on his mind, they'd all find out about it soon.

Sam was stood back, out of shot amongst the rest of the crew as the cameras rolled. Castiel had disappeared again, but it was possible he'd gone to sort something out during the commercial break. Everything was running smoothly, Gabriel's beavering away with some sort of herb mixture to counter the smoky woodiness of his homemade barbecue sauce. It was a change to be able to stand back and watch; normally Sam was too busy fetching and carrying or staying curled up behind the counter ready to hand over or put away some half-completed dish. But watching Gabriel work, watching him talk to the audience, was so strange. He laughed, he joked and he winked inappropriately, but it seemed different now, like it wasn't just for Sam.

It didn't make the recipe sound any less delicious, it was just that it didn't grab Sam the way other recipes did, the ones that Gabriel taught him as they minced and chopped and peeled. He tried to listen, to learn but even as he did, he found himself watching rather than hearing, focusing on Gabriel's hands and on his smile. It all went in slow motion, every movement precise and fantastic.

But in a second, all that changed. Something in Gabriel's smile twisted, lips turning downwards and Sam was sure that somehow Gabriel had slipped and the knife had bitten into flesh. But there was no sudden noise of pain, nothing like that. No, what happened was that Gabriel pulled away, still talking to the camera, still professional, and made his way to the fridge. There was nothing he needed in the fridge. The egg had been beaten and whisked, the milk was set in a little measuring jug, to be used if the mixture was too thick. Sam had followed every instruction and had double checked before they'd gone back on air. There couldn't be anything missing.

Gabriel was saying something else now, about forgetting his own head or something, as he opened the fridge door and ducked down, out of sight of the camera. Then he reached to his face, pulling something out of his ear dropping it and the wire to the ground, pulling it from the box clipped to his belt. What the hell was going on, Sam had no idea, but there was a haunted look in Gabriel's eyes, and that was when the world rushed back in. There was silence on set when they filmed, that was an unbroken rule, but as Gabriel got back on track it was clear that he wasn't the only one who had experienced some problem. The rest of the crew was muttering too, some laughing behind their hands.

"So... you could come and have a drink with me, after work if you want." Dean said, as he took the stacks of folders off of Castiel, so that the other could walk more easily and see where he stepped.

Castiel didn't complain, even if it bubbled up and sat on his tongue. He almost said them, no Balthazar, please, I can manage. But they didn't escape his mouth, and in their place out poured "Thank you, Dean. That's very kind."

Dean shrugged at that, at the thanks, but he seemed pleased nonetheless, even though Castiel hadn't answered him "We could go to a little place we went the other day. Thursday's burgers are the double-stacked ones. If you thought the other ones were good these-"

"I'll... see. I don't really want to have to tell Gabriel where I'm going."

"Oh." That put a downer on the conversation straight away, although Dean didn't feel half as bad as he probably should. So everyone knew that Gabriel had some massive gay crush on him. Fine. Fine. But Dean wasn't interested in him. He liked Castiel, all quite and shy until he got him away, until they could talk and then Castiel could get out of his brother's shadow, he could stop being the one who had to make things happen and he could be himself. And Dean liked Castiel who was himself, the one who had revealed himself that afternoon as Dean had helped him away from the mountain of profiteroles. This was the real Cas who said he hated fancy restaurant food, who didn't want rich desserts. He wanted a chicken sandwich and fries, a decent burger or a pizza from somewhere, eaten out of the box, and he wanted to eat it as he read or listened to the radio or while he did paperwork; he didn't want to sit at a table and make awkward conversation.

And Dean wanted to know that real Cas. He'd convinced him to come out to a diner Dean knew- just the two of them, secretly. Well, it wasn't a secret- Sam had been at class and Gabriel had been shopping, so they had their time to talk. Gabriel and Cas weren't married or an item or anything weird. Which made this okay. It wasn't cheating. That was, it wouldn't have been cheating anyway, because it wasn't a date. It wasn't a date, not at all, and Dean had been telling himself that each and every time their knees knocked under the table, or when he paid for the whole check or drove Castiel home. When Castiel had shyly let himself be kissed, Dean told himself it wasn't gay, even when Castiel groaned against his mouth and Dean felt his cock twitch.

Castiel, out of everyone, should have known that Dean wasn't interested in Gabriel. But the way Castiel looked at him now, with those big blue eyes, Dean knew he understood. Castiel didn't think Dean liked Gabriel, he didn't think that at all. He didn't want to be gossiped about, he didn't want Gabriel saying anything, making faces when they talked. And that was more than okay with Dean.

He moved forwards, tossing the papers away and ignoring the little squeak from Castiel. It didn't stay a squeak long, not when Dean pressed him up against the nearest wall and kissed him hard, until Castiel's fingers uncurled from the folders in his hands and clung onto Dean's shirt-front instead, kissing back. They didn't know that the shove had turned on Castiel's headset and microphone, too busy to notice the little black box tucked into Castiel's back-pocket start flashing it's little green light.

"Fuck, Cas," Dean managed, voice lowered with lust, the same lust that made Castiel groan and his body shiver when Dean forced a knee between his thighs. "It'll be our secret, right? No one knows, not Gabriel, not Sam, not anyone. You're so fucking sexy, you know that?"

Castiel apparently did, or at least he knew it enough to press himself forwards, grind himself down against Dean's leg and start rocking against him, muttering things that were lost in gasps of pleasure, his fingers curling tighter on Dean's clothes.

"Want more?" Dean asked, as Castiel bucked again, harder this time, and his cock was obvious through the fabric of his pants.

"Not here, Dean! Dean, not-"

"No one's going to find out, Cas. It's good. We're good," Dean coaxed, hands moving over Castiel's thin frame, over his hips and flat stomach, fumbling with the buttons of his slacks until they were open, and he pushed his hand inside, groping at Castiel through his boxers until Castiel's moans became more desperate, far more desperate.

"Dean! Dean- I-" He began, stuttering and lifting his hips, needing and wanting more. He was close, so very close and Dean wasn't going to deny him, not when Castiel was shifting and squirming, not entirely sure what he was begging for, but knowing he needed it all the same, trusting Dean to understand what Castiel wanted when words failed him.

And Dean did, palm rubbing and stroking and grinding against his straining cock until there was a rush of wet heat and Castiel shuddered harder than before, going limp against Dean, leaning heavily against him. Dean's own cock was still rock hard, aching in his jeans, but Castiel seemed too blissed out at that moment to understand that normally you returned the favor. He let him catch his breath, pressing a wet, open-mouthed kiss to his lips.

It took a good twenty minutes for the feeling to return to Castiel's legs afterwards, for him and Dean to decide they wanted to head back into the company of others. Castiel was still clingy, wanting to touch and hold and stay, but there was only so long they could be missing for, only so long they could both be gone before someone came looking for them, either Sam wondering where his brother was or someone official searching for Cas. Dean almost had to prize him off, remind him that this was all a secret, that no one was meant to know about them, that they didn't want the awkward questions.

Castiel headed back in first, head bowed and all his attention focused on the papers in his arms. That was why he walked straight into Gabriel. Dean emerged moments later, expecting the studio to be just the same as it always was. He didn't expect for the crew to be standing around waiting, watching him. Castiel was there at the front of the crowd. His eyes looked wet and Gabriel was glaring fit to kill.

There was something else in Castiel's hands, something other than papers and files. It was the headset, the microphone and the belt-clip. It was flashing green.

"Dean..." Castiel began, as Dean noticed the rest of the crew pausing in their movements, in tidying up after the end of the show. "Dean, they heard everything. I'm so sorry."

Dean had never wanted the ground to swallow him up, not like this, not since he had been an idiot teenager. He'd taken one look at the crowd behind Cas, Gabriel's glare and Sam's disappointed face, as if he'd expected Dean to do better. But beyond that, there were grins and mutterings, the laughter of strangers who thought he was gay, who assumed he was something other than what he was, and he couldn't stand that. He'd still be slightly hard as they'd gone back through the corridors, but any hint of that died at that moment, faded away to nothing and he was left with burning shame and anger.

He could say nothing, he could feel nothing. There was just anger bubbling up in him, and he couldn't stand it. He cursed, at all of them, and strode out. He heard, vaguely, some soft, sobbing pained sound, but he ignored it and went on, slamming the studio door behind him.

Gabriel caught his brother by the shoulder, to hold him back. Castiel wasn't the sort to collapse in a fit of emotion, he wasn't the sort to show any sort of feelings normally. He calculated and he understood a great deal Gabriel never could, but the unhappy noise he made then was horrible. But after the first attempt to move forward, denied by the weight of Gabriel's' hand on him, Castiel didn't try and go after Dean, he just stood his ground until the door stopped shaking on it's hinges.

"Open the damn door Dean!" Frankly Sam might as well be screaming at the sky. There was no reply, even though Sam knew Dean was in. He'd called his phone, he could hear it on the hall table, ringing and vibrating against Dean's keys. The car was parked in the drive, and the radio was on upstairs, playing something loud and bold and defiant so the whole street could hear. They could hear Sam's shouting too, and there was no doubt curtains twitching across the road and next-door, anxious neighbours worrying if it would have to be them that called the cops about the Winchesters and their unacceptable behavior.

Sam knew what was going on, but it wasn't something he could actively think about at that moment. All he could see was Dean, upstairs in his room, probably with a beer or six by now, staring at nothing, or some dog-eared porn rag trying to tell himself he was straight and everyone knew it. He created nothing but his own problems. No one was laughing at the fact he'd been heard having sex with Castiel over the head-sets. No one cared if it was Cas and not some girl. It wasn't that it was some boy, but it was the fact that they'd been heard having sex at work which had caused the gossip as soon as the credits had rolled. Gabriel's reaction, stomping on his earpiece and hiding in the fridge had caused the wave of amusement through the crew. But no one was laughing at Dean or Dean's sexuality, whatever that was.

Dean was still trapped in the prison their father had built, stupid poisonous ideas about what society wouldn't and couldn't accept. The fact Dean had locked himself in his room, and actually locked himself in the house, wasn't exactly surprising. He was blocking everything out and not dealing with it. Which left Castiel alone and feeling abandoned and used. It was the last thing he'd needed, as Gabriel had pointed out.

Sam glanced over his shoulder then, to Gabriel who was leant against his own car, pulled up on the curb. When Dean had bolted, he'd taken the car, and as he'd been driving with Sam to and fro, Sam had been stranded. Or would have been, if Castiel hadn't insisted that Gabriel drove him home. And now, waiting, with his arms crossed and his face stony, Sam couldn't help but feel like this was somehow his fault, that he had to apologize for Dean all over again. He was trying to find the words as Gabriel walked up the path towards the front door, trying it once. Sam had unlocked it, but Dean had clearly thrown the bolt on the other side, and there was no way of opening it without breaking it down.

"Are you going to try a window?" Gabriel asked, but Sam shook his head.

"If he's trying so hard to keep me out, then I'll stay out till he's cooled down. Besides I think our neighbors are watching, and if I climb in through the window, they'll probably get the cops on speed-dial."

"Alright then, come on." Gabriel said, moving back towards his car.

Sam didn't understand for a second, then when he realized that Gabriel was offering him a place to stay, he knew he couldn't accept. "Gabriel, I couldn't, really. It wouldn't be fair on Cas; he probably doesn't want anyone around."

"Don't judge him by Dean's standards. He wouldn't want you to have to go to some filthy motel because your brother's a jerk. Come on, we're going to pick up burgers. Cas always wants burgers when he's upset," he added, when Sam gave him a confused look. "It's a treat."

Sam half thought they were going to stop at some high-end restaurant and pick up burgers-to-go, Gabriel just didn't seem the sort to go to a cheap diner or drive-thru, but that was exactly what he did, despite everything he said about properly-sourced meat and good salad and ketchup that wasn't more sugar than tomato. But as he paid the woman at the window and passed the paper bag over to Sam to hold, he winked and seemed to have cheered up considerably. But food, maybe even crappy, cheap fast-food seemed to have a positive effect on Gabriel.

If people found out that you bought this stuff..." Sam began teasing as Gabriel put the car back into gear and pulled away.

"Huh, if they knew, then they'd know I was just a regular human. Sometimes fast food is the solution to all of man's problems. Seriously, no chef cooks all the time day in, day out, three meals a day. It's exhausting. It's fun, but you can't always do it. And right now? Even if you want to cook, sometimes you bend to what other people want, even if you don't like it. That's human too."

Gabriel glanced over at him when Sam fell silent, gently elbowing him as he drove. "Come on. It's not the end of the world. You might want to start driving yourself back in. I don't think your brother is going to want to give you a lifts to work any more."

"Probably not, no. Not for a while," he sighed, and pushed his hair away from his eyes. "Dean just... doesn't deal with things, he just pushes them away and doesn't go anywhere near them again."

"I know," Gabriel said, a little darkly, and that was when Sam's heart hurt in his chest. Gabriel had known that Dean had been avoiding him. And then he'd done this to Castiel, rubbed it in Gabriel's face that he wasn't good enough, but Castiel was fine to fuck around with. If they hadn't been caught, would Dean have continued toying with Cas? No. He wouldn't have done that, Sam was sure, he wasn't like that. But part of him, a horrible part of him, wondered whether Dean really was the great guy Sam had idolized as he'd grown up. Sure he had faults, but Sam had never thought of them as major, that Dean was any less of a gentleman when it came to dating, but looking at the evidence now? Dean was a rat.

That realization weighed heavy on Sam's heart, so much so that when they got back to Gabriel and Castiel's shared apartment, with Castiel ripping the bag of burgers from him arms, Sam readily accepted the beer offered to him. He needed one, maybe two, maybe something stronger.

Gabriel patted him on the back, gesturing him towards a couch as he pulled over a chair from the dining suite. After the first few uncomfortable minutes though, things seemed to settle, Castiel's pace through the burgers slowing until he actually seemed to take breaths between each bite, and then, when Sam asked why Gabriel couldn't cook burgers as good as the takeaways, he even managed to laugh. But he was quiet, withdrawn and even more reserved than usual, although he seemed more himself as another round of beers were opened.

Castiel saw himself off to bed not long after though, bidding Sam and Gabriel goodnight, and keeping his eyes on Gabriel for a moment longer in some unspoken thought. It was one of those brother-looks, the sort that he knew he and Dean shared but other people were mystified by. Sam wasn't used to witnessing it between other people, and he had no idea what that poignant look was meant to mean.

Gabriel seemed to though, because he shrugged in response and opened up another two beers, passing one over to Sam and then offering a toast. "To crazy brothers."

It seemed a pretty good thing to drink to, and so Sam did, ignoring the fact he probably shouldn't be drinking like this with class in the morning.

"You know what's funny?" Sam said, swallowing down two gulps. "Dean thought you and Cas were married, like, to each other. Isn't that stupid?"

Gabriel actually looked vaguely horrified, not amused, half-choking on his beer, eyes watering. "Really? What? I'm sorry, that's just..."

"Weird!"

"Not just weird, I mean it's gross but, oh God, why would you think that? He's not even my type."

Sam should have known better. He was the worst person he knew when it came to flirting and pick-up lines. Dean could have charmed birds out of trees, but Sam? He was a subtle as a ton of bricks. A neon green tonne of bricks. So he asked. He had to. "So... what exactly is your type?" And then he knew he was going to regret the answer.

"Tall." Gabriel replied, easily enough. "Handsome. Dimples. Likes cooking. Smart, you know? But still good with his hands." Dean, tick. Dean, tick. Dean Dean Dean.

"I'm sorry Dean dicked you around so much. Honestly, he's... not normally like that. Really. I just... I don't know what's wrong with him." Sam said it more to his beer than anyone else, bottle held in both hands hand his head hung. Dean had fucked them all around, and Sam still didn't know why. Gabriel didn't sound hurt though, not really. There was something else in his tone, but Sam didn't know exactly what it was. That was when he looked up, the couch shifting as someone settled down next to him. Gabriel was shaking his head, a grin twisted onto his face and he leant in, and for a second Sam had no idea what was going on, sure that Gabriel had had too much to drink and was going to pitch forward into his lap.

But that didn't happen. Instead Gabriel pressed their mouths together, the kiss brief and wet, hardly what Sam had imagined but he was almost too surprised to kiss back, only just responding as Gabriel began to pull away. It had stolen all the thoughts from his head and left him numb for a moment, everything turned on it's head. Gabriel had kissed him.

True he'd probably had too much to drink and would most likely regret it in the morning, but at that moment his heart was beating double-time. That meant that he'd noticed Sam, that it hadn't been Dean, unless Sam was just a Dean substitute, but he couldn't honestly believe that. He'd just not seen it, and he could hardly believe how blind he'd been all along. How many weeks had Gabriel been flirting with him and Sam had just written it off as meaningless? Maybe that wasn't his fault, Gabriel flirted shamelessly with everyone; the cameramen, the guests, Balthazar's secretary. He was constantly outrageous and over-the-top, that was just how he was. He was friendly, too friendly, and how was Sam supposed to be able to tell? Gabriel didn't come with a handbook, although that was possibly a very good idea.

But now he'd been sitting too long without answering, with Gabriel looking at him with confusion and, for a moment, Sam saw Gabriel's confidence waiver. Not for long, but for a moment, and that snapped him into action. He reached out, tugging Gabriel back, kissing him hard. Hard enough to knock teeth together and make Gabriel laugh against Sam's mouth, but he wasn't complaining, closing the distance between them until he was in Sam's lap, tongue sweeping over the fullness of Sam's bottom lip, his hands teasing into Sam's hair.

"You were thinking," Gabriel murmured, easing off but not trying to climb free when Sam's arms curled around him. This was new and strange and wonderful, and the beer in his stomach made his blood run hot. He wanted to touch, to run his hands over Gabriel's back, over the nape of his neck into the long tendrils of hair that curled there. He wanted to touch and talk and stay up all night and press lazy kisses to the corners of that ever-grinning mouth. But Gabriel wanted to talk, even if the words were slightly muffled now, almost like low, pleased purrs, although perhaps slurs was a better description.

"Was I?"

"When I kissed you. I could tell. You get all stiff and unresponsive when you think. It's like you can't do anything else at the same time. So, what were you thinking about, Samwich?" That was peppered with another set of kisses, and a gentle tug to Sam's hair, to get him to turn his head slightly and meet the last kiss.

Sam didn't know if he appreciated that nickname, but the kiss and the press of Gabriel against him was more than welcome. He just didn't know what exactly he should tell Gabriel. He'd never been very good at covering his tracks, or lying, or making something up on the spot. Dean had said that would make him a crappy lawyer, but Dean said stuff like that to wind him up. Honesty was the best policy and he had no intentions of lying to Gabriel. Start as you mean to continue, like they said.

"I was thinking that you must have made a mistake. I'm the too-tall, clumsy one. Dean is the one that everyone goes crazy for."

Now that, despite it being the truth, did make Gabriel stop nuzzling into Sam's neck, giving him a long look, with a brow ominously raised. Sam didn't think that was a good sign, but Gabriel proved him wrong.

"I've said it once already this evening, but he's not my type. I'm sworn off jerks. I only go for the nice guys," he said, and then leaned in again, the hands in Sam's hair stroking now, tender and oddly comforting. Sam hadn't thought that Gabriel would have been very good at comfort, it seemed to be more Castiel's area of expertise- Gabriel, or so he'd thought, was more likely to tell you to suck it up and get on with it. Now he could see that he was probably wrong about that too, but he didn't much care if that was the case. Gabriel wasn't everything he appeared to be on the surface, and Sam liked that, liked the idea of seeing a side that no one else did.

"I happen to be a nice guy," he agreed, lips pulling into a smile and he was rewarded by another kiss, and then Gabriel untangled himself, getting to his feet.

"Let's get you some pillows, huh, Mr Nice Guy? Unless you're going to keep your hands to yourself, then maybe you can share with me."

Castiel wasn't sure what to make of them at breakfast, that much was true. Gabriel was making pancakes like they were going out of fashion, piles and piles of them. He was so busy with it, humming along with the radio that he hadn't noticed Sam's horrified eyes. He had a small smile on the plate in front of him, with only a few pancakes left, but his expression was haunted.

"I don't think Sam likes pancakes, Gabriel. You may have to change the content of your morning-after breakfast menu," Castiel said, the words a little clipped and cool, but Gabriel didn't care. He was too busy looking at Sam as if he'd grown another head.

"You don't like pancakes?"

"Er..." Sam began, looking to Castiel for help but he was pointedly ignoring them, buttering toast. "It's just... I'm not really into sweet food. I mean, it's nice treat once in a while but..."

Gabriel slumped. He literally fell into a chair, still holding the turner in his hand. "You don't?" He managed after a moment, "But all the cake, and the pie! And the profiteroles!" That last bit made Castiel shift unhappily, but Gabriel didn't notice. Sam didn't think mentioning Dean was a good idea yet though, and it was probably hurting Castiel that Sam had obviously stayed over and not slept on the sofa.

"Yeah. I know. That's why I thought you... and, you know. He likes that stuff. Especially pie."

There was a moment of silence, but it was quickly broken with a laugh and Gabriel moving again, turning off the heat from under the latest batch of pancakes. "I guess I'll be eating pancakes all of today then. Alright then kiddo, what would you rather have?"

Dean didn't show up at the studio before filming. No one expected him to, and while Castiel was busy arranging the set and overseeing lighting checks, Gabriel sneaked off. He didn't want Dean back, because he'd be back to cause trouble if Gabriel had judged him right. So he told security not to let him in, no matter what he said. They had too much on their plates, and now maybe they could get on without Dean trying to ruin everything for them. Castiel would relax once things got back into their normal pattern. He'd get back into his work, into the schedule of filming and not messing around and eating before the show, not laughing and joking, all four of them.

It hadn't been all that long, only a few weeks, no more. It would go back to the way it was soon enough. Well, almost the way it was. Sam had gone around the studio with a bright red face and icing sugar on the seat of his pants once or twice already, and Gabriel had no intention of stopping.

At some point Dean would start speaking to his brother again of course, and not just point blank ignoring his text messages and letting his calls go to voicemail. Gabriel could see it bothering Sam, could see the way he glanced at his phone forlornly every so often. There was only so much he could do to distract him, as well as keeping his eye on Castiel. It was almost a relief when Balthazar showed up on set again, as if nothing had ever happened and Dean had never ever walked through the doors. They were filming at the time, but Gabriel saw the double doors open through the corner of his eye, and watched as the slender, dark-haired man clutching a clipboard to his chest was approached.

Then he had to focus, sucking up the fact that he couldn't even eavesdrop now that Castiel refused to wear a headset. He said they didn't need them, that he really didn't need distraction when he was working- anything that went wrong was almost immediately apparent in such a small studio anyway. It was fucking stupid for the studio manager not to wear one, in Gabriel's opinion, but his brother had made up his mind and so that was that. Gabriel was going to have to make do with getting his gossip about Castiel and Balthazar from the crew surreptitiously later, while Castiel was elsewhere. It was probably 'too soon' or whatever that meant for Castiel to want to be involved with someone, but at least Balthazar was still fresh in his mind, waiting in the wings as an example of a decent guy.

He didn't have to wait till Castiel was up in the booth though to find out what was happening. Castiel came towards them with, his steps slow and for a moment Gabriel faltered, not sure that his brother was all that steady on his feet. Then he was there, at Castiel's side, holding onto his elbow. Not that Castiel needed it, despite being pale. He just shook his head when Gabriel asked him what was wrong, tugging himself free of the over-protective grip but leaning heavily on the countertop when he reached it, taking the glass of water he was passed with a grateful glance in Sam's direction.

"Balthazar has... given me some surprising news." Castiel managed, having swallowed down half the glass into two gulps. "He said... that there is a network interested in syndication."

"That's great!" Sam said, the first to gather his wits as Gabriel stood blinking in disbelief.

"Yes, it is. He has worked very hard to promote us. But the potential network wants to visit us. They want to watch us prepare and air a show."

That was when Gabriel seemed to find his voice again, making a high-pitched sort of noise, without any words to it. It was a noise of nervous fear and suddenly Sam felt it to. They were going to be watched and judged and any mistake or unprofessionalism could cost them dearly. Sam didn't like the weight that settled in his stomach- the fear that it would be his mistake that would end all Gabriel's dreams.

For a long moment, no one said anything, all too busy facing their own private horrors. Then Gabriel spoke up, wrapping an arm around his brother. "Well they won't be coming yet, but when they do, we'll knock their socks off! Everyone, drinks tonight on me!"

Balthazar seemed all the more eager to come calling now, even if he rarely spoke to Gabriel about the up-and-coming syndication show. He made a beeline for Castiel every chance he got and, well, that did make sense in a way. Castiel was the one in charge; he was the one working his butt off. Yeah yeah, Gabriel was coming up with some truly magnificent feast, but Castiel had to talk to the lighting men, the camera crews, the sound techs. He had to organze special guests and deal with Gabriel each and every time he had an attack of nerves. It only made sense that Balthazar needed to speak to Cas, but from the snatches Gabe overheard, the show wasn't what Balthazar was interested in. And maybe that was a good thing, that Balthazar was still trying to get Castiel to open up.

Castiel seemed more inclined towards Balthazar too, holding himself up straight instead of cowering away. His body language was still tense, but that was just Castiel, right? That was just how he looked. He was always tense, around Gabriel and Sam, around the crew. He was just a little bundle of nerves, but if Balthazar could see beyond that, that was a good thing, wasn't it? But it wasn't just that. Gabriel wanted Castiel to be happy. That wasn't a terrible thing. And Gabriel knew how to find happiness, he had it now with Sam, even if it was still at the early stages. Gabriel knew what it felt like though, the first blossom of a romance, and he wanted Castiel to feel it too, to understand it. If that meant maneuvering Castiel, if that meant setting him up with Balthazar, then so be it. Castiel was too inexperienced to do it for himself.

Sam didn't think much of that suggestion, when Gabriel repeated it and nudged him in the ribs.

"I really don't think he likes him." Sam said. He thought that Castiel didn't seem happy that Balthazar had cornered him, just that he'd accepted it as a fact of life. "Just because he's not running away doesn't mean he likes it. Would you say Balthazar was a perfect match for him?"

"He might not be perfect, but at least he's not a dick."

Not that Sam had any time to argue with that failed logic, as Balthazar moved past them then, winking in a way that made a shiver run down Sam's spine and his stomach churn. "I really don't think..." He began, but then Castiel was there, watching Balthazar retreat.

"I've agreed to go for dinner with Balthazar tonight. He is picking me up at seven."

Gabriel gave Sam a smug look, turning in his heels to finish tidying, and that meant he missed the unhappy droop in Castiel's shoulders.

"Dean! Dean!" He had a terrible feeling that he'd been here before, doing the same thing. And he was getting the same result; Dean was ignoring him. But this time Gabriel wasn't waiting for him, he was back at home helping Castiel get ready for his date. And Sam was hedging all his bets on one thing. Dean's usual sulks never lasted this long. Even if he was wrong, he'd shrug it off and refuse to acknowledge it.

"No one cares, Dean, no one but you!" Sam shouted again, but this time he didn't care about the twitching curtains and their neighbours straining to hear. "But Gabriel's convinced Castiel to go out with Balthazar, and he's going for drinks with him tonight!"

It might have been his imagination, but he was sure he saw the blinds move upstairs in Dean's room. Dean hadn't liked Balthazar, even if he'd only met him in passing. He was oily and egotistical, and his fashion sense had made Dean mutter all sorts of things under his breath. Sam knew his brother, and part of him was certain that whatever Dean's issues were, he wasn't a complete bastard. He could get over those issues, with the right prompting. Castiel getting together with the wrong man, the sort of man Dean had instantly disliked, that was the perfect prompt.

Sam must have been right, because a few minutes later Dean was opening the front door. He hadn't shaved for a few days, probably since Sam had seen him last and the clothes he wore were thick with grease and dirt. He'd been to work at least, then, and Bobby had probably put up with his bitching and moaning. Sam felt momentarily sorry for the old man, but Bobby always gave as good as he got.

"What the fuck is he doing that for?"

Sam shrugged. There were probably a lot of reasons why, and Gabriel was the main one, always pushing and prodding his brother into doing something Castiel wasn't exactly sure of. Not that he was going to say that, not in front of Dean. He was going to have to tell him about what had happened that evening Dean hadn't let him come home at some point, but not now, and he wasn't going to color Dean's feelings on Gabriel any more than they already had been. "I don't know but they're going for drinks tonight."

Dean didn't avoid his brother's hard look then, but he did roll his eyes before turning to grab the Impala keys from the shelf just inside the door. "Don't say a fucking thing. Just because I'm going this doesn't mean anything. I just... that guy's creepy, alright?" And with that Dean was pushing past him, leaving Sam to shut the door. It was only when Dean got to the car and pulled open the door that he called back to his brother, looking a little sheepish. "Sam! Where did they go?"

"I think Gabriel said they were going to that new fancy restaurant in town?"

"Huh. Right. Sammy? Thanks."

And then Dean was gone, ducking into the car and speeding away.

It was a fancy restaurant, the tables lit with candles, crisp white tablecloths and waiting staff in black waistcoats. The menus were in French and the wine Balthazar had ordered was brought out for him to taste first, and only poured into their glasses once he'd approved it. Castiel had never been to a place like this, and considering what everyone else was wearing, he felt out of place in the black slacks and hastily ironed shirt. He should have had a jacket, a tie at very least, but Gabriel had scoffed at him on his way out the door, and taken the tie from him. Now he felt naked without it. He felt naked whenever Balthazar looked at him, as if the man could somehow peel away all those protective layers. Castiel didn't want to be naked. He didn't want to be looked at. He wanted to be at home, and away from all these people in their expensive clothes and most of all, he wanted to be away from the man across from him.

"You look stunning, angel" Balthazar purred, the voice sending a shiver down Castiel's spine. He knew he should never have agreed to all of this. He had managed to convince himself, somehow, that Balthazar and he could get along, perhaps an evening out with him would be enjoyable. But it wasn't. It was awkward and Castiel had no idea what to say; he couldn't relax. His smile was forced, when he remembered it, and his attention had been on everything but his date. Now, as Balthazar topped up his glass, he felt those eyes on him again, stripping him. "You're being very quiet. What's on your mind?"

He couldn't ignore a direct question, no matter how much he wanted to. Balthazar wouldn't want to know what Castiel was actually thinking, he knew that much. No one on a date would want to know that the other person wanted to be anywhere but there. "Oh, I was thinking about the show. Gabriel's very excited about the syndication, he wants to pull out all the stops and get a guest to help with the cooking and-"

"No Castiel." Balthazar laughed, leaning forward and putting his hand on Castiel, covering it. "We're not going to talk about work. We're going to talk about us. You and me. We could do very well together, you understand. In business, in private. The studio will back you in any project you want to do. And I'll look after you. I'll make sure of that."

Balthazar's smile was probably meant to be inviting, seductive even, but Castiel didn't feel like he was being seduced. He didn't much like the leg that rubbed against his, either. He wanted to shift, pull away, but he felt trapped by the way Balthazar watched him. He didn't want any more projects, he wanted to say. He didn't know what he wanted to do once Gabriel achieved the syndication he was dreaming of. He wanted to be quiet, allowed to work at his own pace. He didn't want all the responsibility.

And he didn't want Balthazar.

Castiel found himself standing, the chair pushed out behind him. He'd had hardly more than a sip of the wine, too rich for him, so it wasn't Dutch courage helping him. He was doing this for himself, standing up for himself and what he wanted. Balthazar was looking at him, and it felt like the rest of the room was too, wondering what was going on.

"Balthazar, thank you for tonight. But I really don't see you as anything but a colleague, and I'm going to go home now."

He didn't wait to see if Balthazar said anything, he only felt his heart hammering in his chest, hard enough to burst and he needed to escape. He moved, turning towards the doors and passing the stunned maître d', spurred on by the sudden roar of gossip. The lobby was almost empty, but that didn't matter, he was through and out the door in a matter of seconds. The street beyond was cold, dark and Castiel privately cursed his brother for getting involved, for picking apart his wardrobe, for telling him all of this would be a good idea, would make him feel better about himself. It didn't.

"Castiel!"

He whirled around, expecting it to be Balthazar, somehow ahead of him. But he'd completely missed the sound of a car on the street, or the sound of its breaks. He only noticed now, as Dean jumped out of the car, looking dishevelled, although that couldn't mask the relief Castiel felt in his chest. "Please, don't go in there. That guys a bigger jerk than I am."

For a moment, Castiel wanted to laugh. But there was a noise from the restaurant, Balthazar heading through the lobby. "I know!" he replied, dashing out to the car, to the passenger side and climbing in. "I think may have caused a scene. I need a ride home. Please?"

Gabriel obviously wasn't expecting Castiel back so soon, that was obvious. He answered the door only after they'd knocked several times, and was covered in flour, with chocolate smears over his apron and around his mouth too. He stood dumbly for a moment, looking between his brother and Dean, as if trying to see if there was anyone else with them.

"Where's Balthazar?" He asked as Castiel pushed passed him.

"I don't care." Castiel snapped, as angrily as Gabriel had ever heard him say anything. Castiel was a good person, he didn't go around saying that he didn't care about people or things. Even if he didn't care, deep down, he didn't show it. "I don't want to see that man again, Gabriel, not outside of work."

Gabriel opened his mouth, more than a little surprised, trying to form words and then giving up again. He didn't seem sure at all what to make of the news and eventually he simply threw his hands in the air. "Fine! Fine. You're a grown-up! I was only trying to help." His attention went to Dean then, glaring hard if he blamed Dean for all of his plans being ruined.

"It's nothing to do with Dean. He was kind enough to drive me home, that's all. Gabriel, Balthazar and I just won't work. I don't like him. Accept that decision gracefully."

He couldn't much argue with that, although Gabriel did mutter something under his breath, before heading back towards the kitchen. "And I bet Dean is staying for dinner too."

No one answered. Castiel looked sidelong at Dean, ready to extend the invitation. Wanting to, in fact. Dean hadn't actually saved him, but he had been a friendly face when he'd needed one, and despite everything Castiel's heart still beat a bit quicker when he saw Dean glance his way. Dean looked ready to answer the unasked question, that he was staying.

But then the door opened, key turning in the lock and Sam was stomping in, shopping bag in hand and bottle of wine tucked under his arm. "Gabe? I thought I'd pick up another bottle in case Cas comes back early-"

Sam stopped, cutting himself short by the sudden feeling of three pairs of eyes turned his way.

Dean recovered first, or at least, was the one to speak first. All the indignities of the evening were directed at Sam now, "Why the hell have you got a key to Castiel's apartment?"

"Er..." Sam began, not sure he was ready to reveal the truth. "I borrowed Gabriel's?"

That didn't seem to be exactly the answer Dean wanted, but Sam was moving away, heading deeper into the apartment so his brother couldn't ask him anything else, although Dean's expression was more than a little suspicious.

"Alright then. What's for dinner?"

If Castiel had been worried that the next day at work Balthazar would try and talk to him, he need not have concerned himself. Balthazar did not appear, he cancelled their scheduled meeting via Becky, his secretary, with a message that all preparations were in place for the syndication trial, and that Gabriel and Castiel could handle all future aspects of the show themselves. He'd gone as far as to contact their potential sponsors and give them Castiel's name as a contact if necessary. It was a relief to know that Balthazar wanted to avoid anything more to do with the project, that he was happy for Castiel to manage it now. True, most of the hard work had already been done, Castiel had made sure of that. But now it was a weight off his mind, Balthazar wouldn't have the excuse of checking things with them to come by the studio every day. Never mind that Balthazar probably didn't want the reminder of his very public humiliation. He wasn't really a bad man, Castiel supposed, he just wasn't... what Castiel wanted.

He was still thinking when he noticed Becky still stood there, the lighting techs having to move around her. As far as Castiel knew, she'd never actually been in the studios themselves, and there was no harm in letting her hang around a little longer though. He let her get on with it while he went through some of his check-list. But she was still there ten minutes later, and she looked like she was hoping to see someone, craning her head and looking about over the cameras and peering beyond the glare of the lights.

"Becky? Is everything okay?" "I'm just looking for him." Castiel blinked at her. He really didn't talk to Becky all that often, mostly he asked if faxes had come in or if guest had arrived or if Balthazar had signed any important paperwork. They didn't talk socially, and Gabriel avoided her whenever he could. She seemed normal, but now he seemed to have missed something, and he wasn't entirely sure how to say that.

"Him, Castiel! Your boyfriend! Balthazar's been in a bad mood all morning so that must mean he's found out about him! Is he here?"

"What? Becky, I don't understand, I don't have a secret boyfriend." Was there any point explaining? When Becky got an idea in her head sometimes it was impossible to get it out again. But what if Balthazar had recognized Dean? Or the car Castiel had jumped into so eagerly? Balthazar had known everything that had happened, gossip was more rife around here than at any job Castiel had ever had before. Balthazar would have assumed that Castiel had continued to see Dean despite everything and had been too cowardly to tell him. Instead he'd embarrassed him in a elite, expensive restaurant, the sort of place Balthazar had probably been to before and would have wanted to go to again. Castiel had ruined that. Balthazar had every right to be upset.

"I really don't. Please don't tell people I do."

She clasped her hands close to her chest then, eyes widening. "Gabriel doesn't know, does he? Oh, he'll be so jealous!" She almost squealed the words, but then made the effort to quieten down. "You need to tell your brother, Castiel. I know you love him, but he should know. I won't tell though! I swear it! It'll be our secret!"

And then she was gone, dashing off and leaving Castiel feeling confused and slightly unclean, but he couldn't dwell on that. Balthazar was in a bad mood. Balthazar didn't do bad moods well, he grew bitter and sarcastic and cruel, and all Castiel's hopes that Balthazar was going to forgive and forget were rapidly evaporating away. He moved, feeling numb now, sick to the pit of his stomach as the cloud of foreboding circled around him.

Gabriel was rehearsing, talking to an unmanned camera as he cracked eggs into a bowl. He stopped as his brother moved around like a zombie, frowning and watching as Castiel pulled together everything he needed for making coffee, but failed to fill the kettle with water before turning it on, and added two spoons of salt rather than sugar. Even for Castiel the behaviour was odd; but despite the misgivings Gabriel had felt, the disappointment about the way things with Balthazar had been handed, his concern about his brother out-weighed his need for a good laugh.

"What's up with you?" Gabriel said, setting down the egg shell and turning fully.

"Nothing," Castiel murmured. He didn't see Gabriel roll his eyes, but he didn't need to. He knew Gabriel well enough. Gabriel was rolling his eyes, stepping crossed to where Castiel was and there- yes, there was the gentle shunt out of the way, the pressure of Gabriel's elbow on Castiel's side, easing him out the way. Castiel gave in, and let himself be moved. The fire that he'd showed Balthazar had flared very brightly, but he couldn't stir the embers of it now for Gabriel. Besides, Gabriel was good at coffee, he made it sweet and rich and that was what Castiel wanted right now. Something that would kick-start him again.

"Alright. Why don't you sit down for a while? Or head home? We probably owe you an afternoon off in vacation time. I'm sure we'll be alright. The guys know what they're doing and it's a pretty simple set of recipes."

"I'll... think about it."

Not that he had to do much thinking on the matter. His phone buzzed in his pocket, a message from Dean.

Hows today going?

Could be better. Gabriel is suggesting I go home early. Feeling under the weather

There was a pause, although not a long one, but when the next message came, Castiel guessed it was time enough for Dean to grab his jacket and car keys, and from the spelling errors, he'd done it hurriedly.

Combing to get u

Dean you don't have to go to any trouble

But there was no reply to that last message, either because by then Dean was driving, although Castiel didn't think road-safety was Dean's top priority. It was more likely to be because he didn't want to argue, and it was much easier to say he'd never received the message, but now he was here he'd drive Castiel home. If it had been Sam that had offered, or anyone else from the studio, Castiel would have declined, got into his own car and driven himself home without another thought but he found himself glad that Dean wouldn't accept that. Castiel couldn't refuse the kindness, and he found he didn't want to. He wasn't feeling well enough to drive. He wanted to settle back into the comfortable seats in Dean's car, listen to the engine roar.

When Dean pulled up outside the studio door, Castiel didn't hesitate to get in. He didn't see the figure watching them from a window overlooking the parking lot, and he didn't see Gabriel either as he shut the door behind his brother, shaking his head.

Castiel was only off for a little while, but while he was away the show went off without a hitch, there was no problem with the crew, there was no problem switching between cameras, there was no problem with the timing of the recipes or anything else. Gabriel was more than happy to tell him over and over how well it had gone, how he'd not missed any of his cues, that Castiel could take as many days off as he liked and it wouldn't be a problem. The twisted look on Castiel's face made it pretty clear that he wasn't about to have any more time away from the studio, that one successful episode was probably a fluke, and Gabriel couldn't be trusted not to mess up if left without supervision. Sam laughed when Gabriel recounted the conversation, his fists balled and his expression one of frustration. He over-beat the recipe for the easy-cheese-soufflé twice in rehearsals, muttering under his breath that it would have gone fine if Castiel had stayed at home a little longer.

"You've got to get out of this mood," Sam was telling him, taking the bowl from him and sighing as he dipped the whisk in, the egg completely overworked. Gabriel shrugged, still upset even as Sam set the bowl in the sink with a clatter. "You have a show in half an hour. Come on, you can't go on air like this."

What he was going to suggest, Gabriel had no idea, but he didn't get a chance to ask before Sam was taking him by the arm and turning him around, forcing him to face the stove-top.

"Sammy, what-" he began, but then there were fingers and thumbs rubbing at his back, working circles into his flesh. Sam could work magic, Gabriel knew that. Those hands were instruments of wondrous torture sometimes, but at that very moment all he wanted to do was forget about soufflés. A few moments of this had really calmed him down, the healing powers of Sam's oversized hands driving out the tension in his back, filling him with a warm, satisfied gooey feeling, soon replaced by a pooling heat in his stomach. Well, that was another sure-fire way of making sure he was in a good mood for the show, and Sammy couldn't object to that. Especially when Gabriel knew a place, out of the way, quiet, where extra bits of set were stored. He'd gone exploring before, knew that no one ever went down there and he was certain he could sneak Sam down there for a little while and no one would be any the wiser for it. They deserved fifteen minutes or so to themselves. Gabriel needed it, if Sam was going to continue touching him like that.

He was about to suggest they escape, although trying to form words was going to take a lot of concentration now that Sam's fingers were working at the knot of tension between his shoulder-blades, if he opened his mouth he was just going to groan, and then not even the protective height of the kitchen worktops would save his dignity from the attention of the crew. Not that he much cared, being found in compromising positions had been his forte in his younger days, although something told him Sam was not quite as proficient in the art. Maybe it didn't matter if he groaned, he was leaning back into Sam's hands anyway, very close to being a puddle on the floor.

That was when, suddenly, the touching stopped.

The noise that left Gabriel's mouth probably wasn't human, but some bestial noise of disappointment, something close to actual pain as the heat seeped from his muscles. Not that Sam seemed to care, frowning and looking around the set.

"Can you smell gas?"

"What?" Gabriel managed that at least, although not before Castiel came up to them, looking concerned.

"What have you been feeding the crew? They're complaining of feeling sick. I had to send two home."

"Castiel, I think there's a gas leak, you've got to get everyone out," Sam said, flushed slightly but then the smell hit Gabriel over the smell of the food and ingredients, over the smell of the hot studio lighting. By the look on his face, Castiel had smelled it too, going pale and reaching for his phone, shoving it at Gabriel.

"Call 911. Sam, you help me get everyone into the parking lot."

Gabriel was already dialing, moving as quickly as he could towards the door to the parking lot. The call was picked up, a calm, assured female voice filtering down the line but he stumbled on his words anyway, a horrible realization hitting him. They wouldn't be able to do the show. This was the time they really had to impress, and suddenly, without any explanation, they'd be off-air.

Becky had saved their bacon. She might have been strange, and normally far too distracted by her own projects to sometimes do the work that was needed, but she wasn't stupid. She'd raised the alarm, made sure that the building was on lockdown until the fire service arrived. But above and beyond that, she'd managed to make sure that one of their old recordings was aired instead, although Gabriel had no idea how she'd done it, managed to get it aired on time with everything going on around them. He owed her chocolates, or flowers, or both. Something, at least, although it would probably wait until Castiel had calmed down.

Once the emergency vehicles had gone, once the gas had been turned off and the repair scheduled for as soon as possible the next day, it was only the three of them left on site. Sam had waited, stayed to be as helpful as he could be, although there was little they could do. Castiel had sent everyone home after all- they weren't going to get anything done, and there was no point all of them standing waiting in the cold. Privately, Gabriel knew that Castiel didn't want to deal with them. There was enough on his plate with the gas engineers and the firemen milling around. There would be an investigation into what had caused the leak, or so they'd been told, and the word investigation had just sent Castiel on edge. He didn't need the stress, and by the time he felt they could leave it was dusk.

When they got back to the apartment, Castiel took himself straight to bed, waving off the offer of take-out food. That meant Gabriel ate it by himself while he flicked through the pile of cooking magazines on their coffee table, listening to Castiel toss and turn and sigh like a man tormented. It was past one in the morning when Gabriel went to bed, the light under Castiel's door still on.

But that was what Castiel was like, he took everything on, tried to bear all the weight of responsibility himself. He didn't delegate well, he wanted to see everything through and when something went wrong, he blamed himself, and then he punished himself. He skipped meals, avoided the things he enjoyed until he thought he'd served his penance. Maybe he didn't even realize he was doing it, but Gabriel saw it. He'd missed lunch with everything that had gone on at the studio, he'd refused takeaway, which in their home was a rare treat, and now Castiel was going to skip breakfast too, having woken up.

But Gabriel knew his brother. He could recognize a downward spiral when he saw one and he'd taken special care to hide the car keys and the apartment keys, locking them in until he was satisfied Castiel had eaten. And during breakfast, he was going to damn well make sure Castiel wasn't blaming himself for a stupid accident.

"It could have happened any time, Cas. I mean, we've never had a fire-alarm during the show or anything like that. You did a great job," he said, as he slid a coffee across the table to his brother, studying Castiel's tired, unshaven face and red eyes. "You should be congratulating yourself. Didn't that fireman said you'd done the right thing, making sure everyone was out? That you followed the right procedures? What would have happened if you hadn't noticed, and I'd tried to light the stove or something? Come on, don't beat yourself up. This was our first, our only big problem, and we got through it. No one hurt. No dead air."

Castiel seemed to consider that. Maybe he knew it already, that really this wasn't the disaster that Castiel thought it was. Maybe he just needed someone else to say it to him. He could turn it around, instead of seeing it as a disaster, see it as proof that they were great at what they did, that they could handle anything that came at them. Accidents happened, especially on that sort of set, and especially live, but it could have been so much worse if Castiel had just shrugged off the fact two of the crew hadn't felt well. If he hadn't questioned it, or just assumed that sooner or later Gabriel would give someone food poisoning. That wasn't the part Gabriel was proud of, but in this instance he'd let it go. Especially as after a moment more, Castiel nodded, took the cup and took a long swallow of coffee. It was as if he'd just downed the elixir of life, some of the colour coming back to his face.

"I suppose it was... was only an accident, wasn't it? Our only one to date." Gabriel nodded encouragingly at that, and then watched as Castiel got up again, looking far less strained. "I might go back to bed for an hour or so. Thank you for the coffee."

If only it had been the only incident. What was the likelihood of there being any more problems after that? There wasn't, not once the leak had been fixed, and carbon monoxide alarms installed. They didn't have another gas leak at least, there was no fire alarms during the middle of the show. But that wasn't the only thing that could go wrong in a live cooking show, and over the next few weeks it seemed to Gabriel that anything that could go wrong had gone wrong.

Ingredients went missing. Things that Gabriel had checked an hour before, maybe less, were gone literally minutes before the show was due to start. Special guests failed to arrive. Gabriel could laugh some of it off, he could ad-lib like a pro when the camera was rolling, improvise almost seamlessly on most occasions but it was starting to wear thin. It was getting to all of them, of course, but Gabriel was the one in front of the camera, Gabriel was the one who had to hold it together. He could see Castiel fretting and rushing back and forth, sending someone out for eggs or spices or meat that had gone missing, calling Becky to find out if so-and-so had called to say they were stuck in traffic, to find out if there was a replacement blender on site. He had to pretend none of that was happening, had to share a private joke with the audience, had to make up some sort of story about how it had happened before, when he was trying to impress his in-laws. It kept the show going, it stalled long enough for Castiel or Sam or someone to find a solution, but it didn't make it easy. They were expecting it now, every time Gabriel opened the fridge, or turned on a gadget, and no one's nerves could take it any more. It was beyond a joke.

It was Castiel that was taking the off-screen strain. It was falling to him each and every time there was a problem, and now he lived with his phone in his hand, watching Gabriel like a hawk for any sign that something was wrong. While Gabriel could let go of the tension once the problem was righted, while he could continue with the recipe, Castiel didn't have the ability. He couldn't de-stress, not even when a show went right, when nothing went wrong. He was a bundle of nerves, and everyone knew it. He'd hardly been relaxed before anyway, but now it was obvious to everyone.

He needed a break, now more than ever. A week or two away, far away, to recharge and calm down. He needed to go out- or something, anyway because he'd never been the sort to enjoy social gatherings. But he wouldn't. Sam had suggested it, and Castiel had only looked at him like Sam had grown another head. He couldn't have time off, not now. Not with the syndication show breathing down their necks, with every god against them.

Everyone knew Castiel was under strain, everyone could feel it in the air as he went, it was in the way his body moved and his shoulders drooped further and further as the time ticked down to the start of the show. They were lucky now, in a way, that the crew was checking almost everything on the set before they began- the kitchen gadgets were checked, the fridge was checked, the cameras and sound equipment tested. It saved them the embarrassment of something going wrong live, but it was beginning to get ridiculous. After the first few incidents there had been mutterings that the studio needed to up its security, but Castiel had avoided being dragged into a discussion about it. Increased security meant going cap-in-hand to Balthazar and asking him directly. Castiel wasn't about to do that, no matter what.

But he heard what the crew said, and knew that Gabriel agreed with them. These pranks, these deliberate attacks, whatever they were, were beginning to cost them dear, at least in morale. The network visit was coming closer and closer, and despite the fact that the last two shows had gone off without a hitch, everyone was thinking the same thing. It didn't matter what they thought, they were doing everything they could, Castiel was working himself to the bone to get everything right, and Gabriel was rehearsing day after day. The only break they seemed to get was in the evenings, after the show had been done, everything had been put to bed and they were left to reflect. It didn't often make them feel any calmer, but Gabriel tried his best at those points not to wind up his brother or be anything but kind to him. Castiel had supported Gabriel since, since forever, despite being the younger of the two. Gabriel owed him, owed him a lot.

That was one of the reasons he had volunteered to drive Castiel back home, to try and do something nice, to try and in some small way make Castiel's life easier. The plan was to stop for the horrible cheap cheeseburgers Castiel liked so much, but as they drove Gabriel forgot all about that. It was difficult to forget what was happening at the studio though, or the effect it was having with the way Castiel scrunched himself up in his seat, stared out of the window without seeing, without saying anything.

"There's two cents in the glove compartment." There was no answer for a second as Castiel's head slowly turned back to his brother, no reply apart from his confused frown, but he understood after a moment. Even if Castiel didn't understand any modern acronym past 'LOL', he certainly knew the turn of phrase Gabriel was referring to, and the fact it took so long to click really was concerning. What on earth had him so deep in thought?

"I was thinking about... all these disasters."

"I don't think they're bad enough to be called disasters, Cas, I mean-"

"Gabriel." That was short, snappish reply that shut Gabriel up right away. it said very plainly that Castiel was in no mood to have what was going on belittled. "The crew was almost gassed, and you've come close to being electrocuted. Twice."

That was true, he couldn't pretend it wasn't, and as much as he wanted to shrug it off, laugh and say that everyone should try it, it was well worth the occasional uncontrollable twitch, really, he doubted it was a good idea. Castiel just wouldn't find it funny. "Alright, I agree. They're disasters. But what can we do about them, apart from go to Balthazar and-"

"I'm not going to Balthazar. I think... Gabriel, I think he's the one doing all this."

"What the fuck?" The brakes squealed, and as a horn blasted behind them Gabriel made a gesture out the window, pulling over, and mounting the curb as he parked. "You can't believe Balthazar would do anything like that! He's always supported us, he's always tried to make sure we were okay! So you stood him up, is that a reason for him to trying and kill us? Me? Why is he targeting _my_ show?!"

"It's _our_ show, Gabriel. Look I... I just think that it's him. It's this feeling I have. This all started so soon after what happened at the restaurant, it couldn't be a coincidence. And he's not been back on set, not to check everyone was alright, nothing."

Gabriel was tapping the steering wheel, face set into an unhappy mask as he processed what Castiel was saying. "I don't believe he would do something like this. It's stupid. He's ruining his own chances. If they syndicate the show then that's an extra income and prestige for him and he's not stupid. Besides, he's our friend, Cas. Maybe he's still hurt that you fucked him around, maybe he's not been back on set, but he's not some crazy lunatic. You're the one that sounds crazy. You can't just accuse a man of trying to ruin a show and hurt people just because he's upset you dumped him in public. He's been back to the studio. But you've been so busy you've not even noticed him. And frankly, I don't think he's been eager on getting your attention either."

Castiel didn't say anything after that, his blue eyes narrowed at his brother. Maybe calling Castiel crazy was a step too far, but it had to be said. It was a crazy idea and now Gabriel was sick of talking about work and Balthazar and the show. Balthazar was a great guy; he'd found them a network. He was going to make Kitchen Heaven a household name, he was going to send them down the road of best-selling cookbooks and a range of sexy home-wares, he was going to ensure that in their old age they were provided for. And Castiel was going to ruin everything with his stupid theories. It was just crazy.

Gabriel put the car back into drive and shook his head, heading towards the burger place Castiel was always stopping at. As soon as they did this syndication show, they could rest, they could take a breath and relax, and maybe then Castiel could get over all of this. Maybe he'd forget all about Balthazar. Gabriel could only hope. "Look, I'm sorry Castiel. You aren't crazy. It's just... not Balthazar, alright? We'll pick up burgers and go home."

"I'd rather go straight home, if it's all the same to you."

"Right," Gabriel managed, teeth clenched together, giving up.

Castiel didn't bother to even take off his coat. He didn't want to spend an extra second with Gabriel if he didn't have to, not when his brother had made his feelings plain. He thought Castiel was self-obsessed and turning the situation into something that was all about him. But that was how it was. Balthazar knew the show was important to him, he knew how much Castiel cared about it, and its success. The best way of hurting him was to hurt the show, and its chances of doing well with the network. He couldn't just tear up their contract, he couldn't kick them out of the studio. He couldn't do anything like that. But he could try and ruin them so they gave up, so the crew quit and the network lost interest.

But Gabriel had always liked Balthazar. He thought the British accent was funny, he liked Balthazar's taste in wine and good food, he liked being called _love_ and _darling_. Gabriel didn't see Balthazar in the same way Castiel did, he never could, because he'd never been on the receiving end of the man's attention and he didn't, couldn't, understand.

Realizing that hurt. Gabriel might not always have agreed with him, or understood why Castiel wanted to do something a certain way, but he'd always backed his brother up, like Castiel had always tried to back up Gabriel. That was why he was even involved with the show. He could have said no, he could have turned away and told Gabriel that they knew nothing bout television, that they'd never make it and that they'd fail even before they got on air. But he'd trusted Gabriel's instincts, trusted his faith and they'd come so far. They'd worked hard and made it happen. So why now could Gabriel not return the favor? Why couldn't Gabriel trust Castiel's instinct, trust in his gut feeling?

Castiel took a deep, trembling breath and leaned against the door to his room, shutting it with a faint click. It didn't lock, but it didn't need to. With the door shut, he had his peace, and his quiet in a world away from Gabriel. But he didn't want to be alone. Not now. His phone was in his pocket, and he pulled it out as one handedly he began easing off his coat.

"Dean?"

"Hi Cas! How're you doing?"

Dean's voice caused a wave of warmth to run through Castiel's bones, a reassurance that went deep. Despite everything, Dean somehow seemed to just make things better.

"I'm... fine, Dean." He began, but there was a murmured noise through the line- Dean had heard the pause and knew something was wrong. "Now I'm talking to you, at least."

"I have that calming effect on people. Now come on, spill. What went wrong today? Sammy came home with all his limbs but-"

"Nothing went wrong today. We didn't find anything. But I'm just-" There was a moment of silence, Castiel searching for the right words as he sat down heavily on the bed. "I have a feeling I know who's doing all this, and I can't shake it. Gabriel told me I was wrong, and shouldn't mention it again. But I know I'm right."

"Who, Cas?"

He took a breath. Dean was just as likely to judge him as Gabriel had been. More so. Blood was thicker than water, and as Gabriel had said over and over, Dean couldn't be trusted. He'd messed them around before, he'd locked out his own younger brother. Dean couldn't be trusted. But Castiel trusted him.

"I think it's Balthazar."

The milliseconds passed slowly, and for a horrible painful moment, Castiel thought Dean would laugh at him.

Dean did laugh, but it wasn't at Castiel. It was a horrible, mirthless laugh. It was bitter and nasty. "Yeah, I could imagine him doing that. He's a vindictive coward."

Castiel's heart leapt in his chest. Dean understood, Dean knew. Maybe if he was only saying it to reassure him, that didn't matter. Castiel knew then, was more certain than ever, that it was Balthazar sabotaging the show, trying to ruin them and making him feel sick with stress. There was nothing he could do publicly, there was nothing he could do apart from attack Castiel covertly.

"Do you want me to come sit in on the show with you?"

"What?" Castiel asked, not certain he'd heard Dean right, stuck in his own thoughts.

"I'll come with you while you're making the show. Hang around in the studio. I don't mind. If you want me to, I will."

"I think... I think I would feel a great deal better, having you close by." Dean believed him. Dean would witness anything that happened, Dean understood. Maybe it wouldn't help, maybe the stupid attacks, the pranks, the vandalism would continue, but if Dean was there, then Castiel knew he could be relied upon. It make him feel better already. Better enough to understand he was hungry. "Dean, I have... another favor to ask you. Could we go and get burgers?"

Gabriel grinned. He'd been doing it all day, forcing a smile when he actually felt as nervous as hell. It was like the first show all over again, the lights too bright in his eyes and his confidence shot. The months of live shows, the cooking demonstration-cum-PR-gimmicks he'd done in busy shopping malls melted away into nothing. The releases he'd done, all the preparation, none of that mattered at all. The fact he had cooked the recipes over and over until he was sick to the stomach of prawns and garlic butter and noodles, well that just didn't matter now.

But he couldn't shake the feeling that it wouldn't go as planned, no matter how many deep breaths he took or how much he told himself it'd be okay. All the problems had been ironed out. There would be no gas leak this time.

The electrics appliances had all been checked and rechecked. The ingredients were fresh that day and Gabriel had made sure of that himself. There was no more bugs to plague them, no more curses and jinxes, there was nothing more that could go wrong. Everything that could have gone wrong had gone wrong before, now things had to start going right. Their luck had to change. He just knew it did.

It was just that those thoughts didn't settle his stomach. If nothing went wrong, if nothing caught fire, then it would be Gabriel that screwed up.

Somehow he knew he was going to fuck everything up, and it was all down to him. The three suits sat by Castiel beyond the cameras, nameless and featureless, they were just waiting for him to get it wrong, to prove that he didn't have what it took to be on statewide, never mind nationwide, TV. He was going to let Sam down, he was going to let Castiel down. He was going to let down the crew and, well, the viewers. And he was going to let himself down too. He was just going to have to swallow down all his fear and do what he could, get through it with the smallest number of mistakes possible. The audience probably wouldn't notice, not unless it was major. They hadn't noticed the time he'd grated his own fingers as well as the beetroot, but there was good reason he'd not tried any of that salad himself.

He took another sip of water, shutting out the noise in his head and instead focusing on his thoughts. Castiel was busy with the camera crew, working out the last few details, Sam was double-checking the ingredients in the fridge and Dean was settled somewhere out of the way- leant up against the wall where no one could spot him and ask why on earth he was there. There had been questions the day Dean had collected Cas and driven him home, but Gabriel had shrugged them off. He'd been just as curious as everyone else, and he had no answers from either of them about what on earth was going on between them now. They were up to something, obviously, even if neither Castiel nor Dean said anything at all, and disappointingly there was no evidence in Castiel's phone in the form of dirty texts or incriminating photos.

Unless Castiel had learned to delete that sort of thing, but Gabriel wouldn't have wagered money on it.

But there was something, because for whatever reason Dean Winchester was back in the studio, and had been the last few weeks, helping and watching and laughing with them again, as if he'd never screwed Castiel over or embarrassed them both publicly. But Gabriel wasn't allowed to voice those opinions, Castiel had insisted on that, and Sam had merely shrugged and said they should probably butt out of whatever it was their brothers were up to.

Gabriel could butt out. Gabriel could let Castiel do whatever he wanted, he was happy to do so. The only problem was that with Dean there too, he was even more certain that something else would go wrong, and Dean would mock him forever about it. It would be just his luck, not only would he probably lose out on syndication if he screwed up, but Dean Winchester would never let him forget it either.

"A minute to go!"

That shook him out of his thoughts, made him jump and quickly stash the glass of water away, under the work surfaces and try and remember where he was starting the show from, if it was by the stove-top or down by the breakfast bar.

Gabriel's introduction came and went without incident. For all his brother's dramatics beforehand, the opening was as smooth as any of them could have hoped for. Gabriel didn't trip over his lines, he didn't make any mistake. He was just running through the recipes they were going to be doing that day when Castiel felt something vibrate against his hip.

It was habit now to keep his phone with him, switched on, just in case something did rear it's ugly head. But everyone who ever called him- Gabriel, Sam, Dean- they were all here. He privately, silently, cursed, and backed away from the set to answer it in a low whisper.

"Hello?"

"Castiel!" It was Becky, her too-loud voice was audible to those around him, who turned to look as he winced. But Becky didn't sound over-excited like she usually did. Now she sounded panicked. "What is going on down there?!"

"What do you mean? We're in the middle of a show Becky, what is it?"

"I'm tuned in up at reception! Castiel, you aren't broadcasting! We've got dead-air!"

This wasn't something he should have been doing. Castiel knew he wasn't good with technology, he knew the bare minimum about sending text messages and using computers and operating the cameras and sound equipment at the studio, but that was why they employed technicians, that was why they had a team sitting in the box making sure their broadcast aired. What they were doing, Castiel had no idea, but trying to get a hold of them via the headsets was impossible. The crew were too loud, shouting at each other. Gabriel was trying to laugh it off with the sponsors, with the help of Sam. Castiel doubted that any of them they were doing any good. They were probably just embarrassing themselves. But he couldn't deal with both their guests and this right now. Gabriel was the celebrity, he could juggle the guests while Castiel tried to find out what was wrong.

He put his hand along the side of the headset, pressing it close to his ear and mouth, calling for the booth again but there was no answer, not even a crackle.

He shook his head, pulling the off headset and box from his belt, tossing them onto a chair as he headed towards the booth. He didn't know what was going on, but he didn't like it. The technical team they had was good, even if they enjoyed goofing off with Dean a little more than Castiel wanted. Where were they? What were they doing?

He turned a corner, the sounds of the studio muffled now, and up ahead was the booth, the door open. That was strange- they normally shut themselves in, kept the door shut tight when they worked. There was no one inside, and that made a sudden horrible fear wash over him. This wasn't right, not right at all.

Why he kept going he wasn't sure, but he did, stepping into the door and frowning in the darkness. The screens were on, a whole wall of them, some just full of static but there were some from the cameras in the studio showing the empty kitchen soundstage; the unattended hob and another showing the breakfast bar. There was another camera, further back, and from that one the chaos in the studio was more apparent- people walked in front of it, gestured at it, it wobbled slightly when someone knocked against it.

Castiel stared, lost for a minute. He had no idea what was happening, what had caused all this but he wanted to slump down, knock his head against the control panel and give up.

He didn't. He didn't even get the chance to sink any further into despair, not when he heard the door hinges creak and the the lock click. He whirled around, stepping backwards as the grey light from the monitors turned the man in front of him into a monster.

"Balthazar!"

The man grinned, his skin shiny with sweat. "I thought this might be the only way to get you to come and see me. Nothing else did. No extra security, no police involvement? I was hurt, Cas. I told you before, you could come to me for anything. But at least you can always be trusted to investigate when things go wrong."

"Balthazar, please. Let me get on with this and get the show back on the air. Then we'll talk. You know how important this is to Gabriel. We've all worked so hard-"

"Hard? Your buffoon of a brother sat back and watched you do all the work! It was you and me, Castiel. You and me achieved this. We worked for it. We're the team!"

The man stepped forward, and to keep the distance between them as great as he could, Castiel stepped backwards. And again and again as Balthazar kept coming, reaching out.

"I think you should leave. I really do. I'm sorry about what happened at the restaurant, I am."

Balthazar didn't seem to buy it, stepping closer still and laughing as Castiel fell backwards, his hands catching against the control board, buttons and sliders shifting under his fingers. Balthazar laughed, hands moving to Castiel's shirt, tugging and ripping at it, ignoring Castiel's attempt to push him off. Balthazar was finding this too easy, forcing Castiel bodily back into the desk, pinning him down by the shoulders and sending pain shooting through Castiel's arms, almost as intense as the pressure from the buttons and dials digging into his back. "I'm not a very forgiving person, but maybe you can make it up to me. Oh, I've got a long list of things you can do for me."

The look on Balthazar's face was terrifying, even worse in the flickering light from the monitors and Castiel wanted to look away, to make it stop happening. He wanted this all to be a horrible, unfunny, disgusting joke. But it wasn't and Balthazar wasn't about to pull away, he was only getting closer, leaning into Castiel's personal space. He smelt terrible, of cigarettes and booze and sweat and the closer he got, the more desperate Castiel became, desperate not to breathe in. He needed to conquer the churning in his stomach, needed to master himself and somehow get away. He couldn't lash out with his arms, the grip on his shoulders was too tight, but he could try and kick, pushing Balthazar off balance and then he'd be free, and he'd be able to run.

But Balthazar seemed to pre-empt that, saw something of that plan in Castiel's eyes. He was laughing again, laughing at the man he had trapped underneath him, that horrible cloud of alcohol fumes filling the air between them as he kicked Castiel's legs apart and settled between them. There was no way Cas could kick him in the balls now, to lash out at him hard enough or at the right angle to force Balthazar away from him. But Castiel wasn't going to give up, he wasn't going to just give in and let Balthazar do whatever it was he intended to do.

"Balthazar, don't do this. Someone else will be up here soon, someone will come looking for me. Don't let them catch you doing this. Please. Just let me go."

"Come on, do you really believe that, Cas? Who knows you're here? Who did you tell? Do you think those numbskulls would think to test the equipment in here? You give them too much credit, you really do. You might as well face it, Castiel, you're mine now." And with that, Balthazar leaned in, whether it was for a kiss or to bite his neck Castiel didn't know, but he didn't want Balthazar any closer.

He wriggled, straining as best as he could, turning his head away. He didn't want this, didn't care if he whimpered as Balthazar leaned in closer. He just wanted to be free, to get away from this. If he couldn't stop it, then he wanted it to be over. But the kiss he was expecting never came. The hard, pounding beat of his heart against his ribs became the sound of footsteps, a voice calling out and then Balthazar's weight was half lifted from him then, the man straightening up to see what was going on. Castiel took that as his chance, pulling himself free of the grip on his shoulders, shoving at Balthazar's chest to try and get free.

"Castiel!" Dean's voice called, distant but welcome and Castiel thought he was about to cry.

"Dean! Here!"

And Dean was filling the doorway, the expression on his face hidden in the darkness of the room. Castiel didn't want to imagine it, not with the angry growl that came from Dean then. Dean didn't bother to speak, but grabbed Balthazar by the fabric of his shirt and pulled him away, off of Castiel and that was when Cas saw his face, the way his jaw was clenched and his eyes filled with fury.

"Don't you dare touch him again." Dean spat, but didn't let go, his free hand curling into a fist that struck Balthazar in the side of the face. There was a crack, although Castiel had no idea were from, too busy with trying to stand. His legs were made of jello, knees unable to support him and he found himself clinging to the side of the desk to stop himself from slumping down onto the floor, currently occupied by Balthazar. He wasn't unconscious, but he was sobbing, clutching at his face.

"Ignore him, Cas," Dean said, face twisting again as he stepped around Balthazar, offering out his hand to Castiel, and then looping an arm around him when Castiel did almost stumble. "The police will sort him out."

"Police?" The bright lights of the corridor stung his eyes, made them wet and itchy although Castiel knew he couldn't have been in the editing suite long. He didn't want to look like he was crying, even if part of him didn't care, not as Dean shrugged off the unbuttoned shirt he wore over his faded AC/DC t-shirt, wrapping it around Castiel's shoulders.

He wanted to tell Dean he wasn't cold, that he didn't need it, but it was as he looked down at himself that he noticed the tears in his clothes, the rents made by Balthazar's nails in the fabric of his shirt, the faint scratches in his skin beneath, dots of blood just breaking the surface. It was enough to make him shudder, pulling the borrowed shirt closed around himself. He didn't want to be seen like that, not by anyone else, not by the police or anyone he worked with.

"We... we called the police, Cas. The intercom was switched on, between the booth and the studio. Everyone heard."

That made Castiel shudder again. Everyone had heard. There were speakers wired up all over the studio, connected to the control room and he must have fallen onto the switch when Balthazar had pushed him back. Everything Balthazar had said, all those disgusting things had been beamed in for everyone to hear. A nauseousness washed over him but Dean's grip didn't falter. He could hear, or at least he thought he could hear sirens already, although it was distant and muffled. They wouldn't come so soon, would they? How could they? "Every- Gabriel? And Sam and... and the network?"

Dean was going to answer then, lips parting but before he could, Gabriel was at the far end of the corridor, pale as a sheet. There were uniformed officers behind him but Castiel didn't catch more than a glimpse of them, not after his brother caught sight of him and rush up the corridor, pulling Castiel into a tight and inescapable hug. He was making a terrible noise, indistinct words separated by sobs and Castiel clearly had no idea how to react, his arms trapped between him and his brother, still holding Dean's shirt around himself.

It took a moment, Gabriel's breath ragged but he pulled himself together and let Castiel go, his eyes red-rimmed. "Fuck, Castiel, I... I should have..."

Castiel shook his head. Gabriel should have believed him. But he hadn't, and it was too late to change anything now. Even if he had believed him, what could they have done? Dean had believed him, Dean had come to find him. "It's fine. I'm fine." That didn't seem to be enough for Gabriel, the sorrow in his eyes all too obvious, but by that point the police had caught up, moving into the booth to pull Balthazar to his feet. Castiel didn't want to be there any more, didn't want to watch him be escorted out. He pulled away, gently, from Dean's hold, beginning to move slowly back to the studio. He had the use of his legs back now, even if he still felt unsteady on them, but he didn't get very far, not before his path was blocked by a young woman with flame-red hair.

"Castiel Novak? I'm Detective Milton; your brother called me. Are you alright? Do you need a doctor?" Her face was a mask of practiced sympathy, of carefully schooled concern and empathy. Or maybe it was genuine, he didn't know, he was too tired to care now. It was all happening too fast, too much, too soon. He just wanted to leave, to hide for a while away from the noise and bustle of people.

"I'm... fine. I just want to go home." Detective Milton seemed to understand that at least, nodding her head but she didn't move out of his way.

"I understand, but I'll need to speak to you first, to ask about what happened. Then you can leave, I'll get one of my officers to drive you home."

"I..." Castiel began, looking back towards Gabriel and Dean, only a few feet away. Dean was there in a heartbeat, arm protectively around Castiel's shoulders again. "Alright. I'll... Now?"

The smile the Detective gave him at that point was definitely genuine, glancing between him and Dean but making no comment. "Now would be great. Is there somewhere we can talk?"

They ended up in one of the meeting rooms near Balthazar's office, the room filled by a long table surrounded by chairs, and it felt far, far too big for just the three of them. Dean had hung back once Becky had unlocked it, certain that he wasn't going to be allowed in while statements were taken, but Castiel refused to go in alone. They sat huddled together, Dean's chair as close as it could be to Castiel's as Detective Milton wrote her notes, before her attention went to Dean. The questions she had for Castiel seemed to have been standard, short questions, ones that he really didn't need to expand much on once he'd given his version of events. Dean seemed to get the fourth degree, the questions going on and on and on. They weren't useful questions, as far as Castiel could tell, just why Dean had been in the studio and why he'd run to find Castiel and left it for someone else to ring the police. But it was over, eventually, and the detective stood to signal the interview was over.

"I'll get one of the officers to drive you home, Castiel," she said, getting a business card out of her pocket and handing it over. "You can call me anytime, if you want to talk."

He nodded, but didn't move towards the door yet. "I'd... I'd prefer Dean to drive me home, please. I'd be happier."

Detective Milton shrugged, offering her hand to be shaken. "That's fine. I'll speak to you tomorrow, once we've spoken to everyone involved. Try and get some rest."

Dean had his arm around Castiel by the time they left the room, keeping Castiel close to him but saying nothing, not with the detective still behind them, Dean clearly wanted to deliver his words of comfort when they were alone, without the policewoman behind them and without Becky listening at the door, which Castiel was in no doubt she had been doing all the way through their interview. There was nothing malicious about her, he knew that, but if Dean was going to say anything that was meant only for him, that was how Castiel wanted it to stay, without anyone overhearing. Especially not Becky, who would probably share it with the whole studio if she thought it was endearing or romantic enough.

Becky was outside, but not by the door as he'd imagined she would be, she wasn't even bent over, pretending to look for a non-existent lost contact-lens. Instead she was hovering by her desk, looking vaguely nervous. Castiel had no idea why; she wasn't to blame for anything that had happened, but then he realized why. A man in an expensive, dark suit was standing only a few feet away, and while Castiel couldn't bring himself to remember the man's name at that point in time, he did know who he was. He was one of the network's representatives, tall and imposing. Castiel had been so glad of Dean's hold on him a second ago, but now he pulled away as the man looked at them, standing straight on his own two legs. Whatever the network had to say, he was going to take it, deal with it without needing Dean to hold him up.

And somehow he would find a way of telling Gabriel. This marked the end, of course. They couldn't stay here, he didn't want to work here anymore. He didn't know what was going to happen if Balthazar would be able to ever come back. The network hadn't even been able to see part of a show, never mind a whole one. But Castiel could accept what they said, and he would go home. That was all he wanted; to go home and sit in the bath until the unclean feeling was washed away completely and he felt new.

"Mr Novak?" The man stepped forwards, towards them, and for a second Castiel had to suppress the urge to step back, and away. "I'm sorry about what happened. My colleagues and I hope you're okay. If there is anything we can do, don't hesitate to get in contact."

That was, Castiel supposed, what he should have expected them to say, but it surprised him nonetheless.

"Thank you. I'm sure... things will work themselves out." Somehow. Gabriel would have to just face the fact that this was not something easily fixed, that the show could not bounce back if it had no studio to work in, if they had no syndication offers. Castiel would go back to office work, Gabriel would drift into something else. They'd had a good go at it. They'd got further than Castiel had ever thought they would.

"I am sure they will. But when you're ready, I'd like it if you would contact us."

"I'm sorry. Contact you? I don't understand." Maybe he was over-tired, maybe he just couldn't think any more, but he couldn't understand what was meant, what was going on. He just felt confused and the pounding in his head was growing more painful by the second.

"We'd still like to see your show, Mr Novak. We think there's a lot of potential in the recordings we've seen. There is another studio we work with that have a kitchen sound-stage, I'd be more than happy to give your their details. I'm sure they'd have no problems." With that, the man pulled out a piece of paper from his pocket, and a pen, taking a second to write. Castiel was glad of the moment, the time to breathe. Behind him, Dean had put a congratulatory hand on his shoulder, squeezing gently. Becky was grinning, bouncing slightly in her chair, desperately wanting to say something, to let out some high-pitched pleased noise no doubt, but somehow she managed to hold it in. Castiel didn't think he'd ever been more grateful for that one small mercy. He couldn't deal with any more noise.

Then the paper was handed over. The studio name, number and address neatly written, and with another name and number beneath. "Those are my details. Contact me directly when you're ready, we'll set something up, do a few shows. I'm sure the network would be interested, whatever time you contact us."

Castiel took it, suddenly devoid of feeling, nodding numbly. "I... thank you, Michael. I will. Call you."

The man smiled, faintly, and then moved out of the way, letting them go on. Castiel couldn't and didn't move for a moment, not till Dean was next to him again, a hand pressed to his back gently easing him forwards, out of the lobby doors and into the car park. There were police-cars out there, but no sign of anyone going in or out, no one milling around. Castiel was glad of that, and let Dean led him to where the car was parked.

"I'd really like to go home now," he managed, once Dean was climbing into the drivers seat, shutting the door.

Gabriel and Sam didn't arrive back at the apartment for some time, looking tired and pale but as soon as Gabriel saw his brother, something changed in his expression. The tiredness faded, replaced with a horrible mask part way between relief and guilt.

"Oh God, Castiel!"

There wasn't even time for Castiel to reply, to warn his brother that he was still wet from the shower, before Gabriel's arms were wrapped tightly around him, hugging him close.

"I'm so sorry Cas, I'm so sorry." Gabriel was repeating into Castiel's shoulder, the words muffled and for a moment Castiel simply stood, letting the words wash over him as he managed to suck the air back into his lungs. Gabriel was, and always had been a very tactile person, touching people's shoulders and elbows and hands, but it was rare he ever hugged Castiel. Castiel wasn't eager on it, and almost everyone knew that.

But despite the look on Dean's face - the concern that after everything today, that a hug would be unwelcome or even upsetting- Castiel welcomed it. This was what he needed, his friends and his family near him. Gabriel eased off after a moment, although he clearly wanted to stay close to his brother, hold onto him for those few moments longer.

"Dean, Sam? Will you make some coffee?"

It was a polite way to get the others out of the room, to give Gabriel and Castiel a moment to themselves, and Gabriel knew they sorely needed it. There were no protests from the Winchester brothers either, and in only a moment they were alone, cutlery and crockery noisy knocking together from the other side of the apartment ensuring they wouldn't be overheard. Castiel sank down onto the couch, gesturing for Gabriel to join him, and Gabriel felt a horrible dread settle as a stone in his stomach.

"I'm sorry, Cas. I am. I should have believed you when you said Balthazar-" Gabriel began, having taken a deep breath. He had the words rehearsed in his head, to some extent at least, a whole speech about his regret and his stupidity, but he never got any further. Castiel interrupted him too quickly.

"You should have done. You should have believed me, and you shouldn't have pushed me to start a relationship with him."

Gabriel had to accept that, it was true that he'd always been the one in the background trying to get the two together. He hung his head, fingers folding together between his knees. "I didn't think he was like that. If I'd thought, for even a second that he'd try and..."

"I know, Gabriel. You're not a monster." Castiel said, and as Gabriel turned to look up at his brother again, Castiel managed a small, forgiving smile. "It wasn't your fault."

There was a rush of relief at those words, even if inside, Gabriel didn't entirely believe it. But the fact Castiel didn't blame him took a horrible choking weight from around his shoulders, and he smiled back, leaning in and hugging his brother again, although not so desperately clinging to him this time.

"But I need you to understand, I'm not going back," Castiel finished as he pulled back. "I'm not going back to the studio. I'm not prepared to do it, and I hope you can understand that."

Gabriel nodded. How could he ask Castiel to come back? It wasn't fair, it wasn't right to ask him to carry on as if nothing had happened. He just didn't see how they could carry on now. Castiel had always been the lifeblood of the show, the heart of it. Gabriel bounced ideas off of him, Castiel organised things and spoke to people and did paper work and the rest. But continuing now? He couldn't imagine it.

That was when Castiel held out a small piece of paper to him. The handwriting was unfamiliar, but neat and professional. "Michael Milligan still wants the show. He said you should contact this studio and use their sound-stage. You can find another producer."

Gabriel took the paper, frowning at his brother. Maybe the show would be okay, maybe it could and would keep going, if he could find the right person. But that wasn't his only worry. Castiel might not have enjoyed doing as much as he had, maybe he didn't want so much responsibility anymore, but Gabriel couldn't imagine him sat at home twiddling his thumbs, watching daytime TV and doing nothing. It just wasn't Castiel. "What will you do?"

"I don't know. Something quiet."

There was another loud clatter from the kitchen at that point. one that had Gabriel worried about the state of his cups and plates. But the noise, instead of making Castiel jump, just seemed to make him look slightly less harried, another faint smile crossing his features. Gabriel thought the reason was probably fairly obvious.

"You and Dean?" He had to ask. It was probably the wrong time to ask Castiel about relationships and men and especially about Dean Winchester, but Castiel didn't seem to care.

"It's early days. But I think he's a good man. I just don't want you to try and help us along, Gabriel. Although I want to ask you to do something for me."

Gabriel would have offered anything at that moment, would have bent over backwards for his brother, so he sat up a little straighter, to show willing. "What?"

"Tell him about you and Sam. The sooner you do it, the easier it will be."

"I thought you said you'd forgiven me. Dean's going to kill me when he hears-"

"No, no, he won't. Get them both in here now and tell him. I'm not going to cover for you."

Gabriel wanted to protest. Castiel hadn't covered for him at all, not yet anyway, and Gabriel had no intention of letting him start. But Gabriel knew that it couldn't go on like this, if Castiel and Dean were going to be coming in and out, if they were coming and going at odd hours of the day and night, then sooner or later there was going to be an uncomfortable meeting one morning in the corridor. Gabriel didn't need that hanging over his head.

That was when Dean appeared, hovering a little nervously in the doorway, looking between Castiel and Gabriel in a way that might have been funny if Gabriel didn't have so much on his mind.

"You finished?" Dean asked, carrying in a coffee and a bottle of beer. The coffee was handed over to Castiel, the beer Dean took a swig of as he settled down on the arm of the couch. By the time he'd settled, murmuring to Cas to make sure he was alright, Sam had come in with the last two coffees, and completely failed to interpret the meaning of Gabriel's rapidly dancing eyebrows.

It was one thing for Castiel to twist Gabriel's arm, but he couldn't expect Gabriel to just reveal the relationship to Dean without clearing it with Sammy first. What if Sam didn't feel it was the right time, what if Sam wanted to tell Dean himself? This wasn't just a matter for Gabriel to decide. But there was no chance for him to drag Sam back into the kitchen. As soon as Sam had sunk down into the spare seat and Dean had been assured that Castiel wasn't upset, Castiel took the opportunity.

"Dean, I've told Gabriel I won't be working on Kitchen Heaven anymore. He's being very understanding and supportive. And there is something Gabriel wanted to tell you himself." He prompted, like Gabriel was some sort of misbehaving child that had a bad report card. The trouble was there was no use glaring at Castiel, besides, after today Gabriel didn't have it in him. He took a deep breath and glanced to Sam, who was already giving him a look.

Gabriel had never been more glad of one look before. For a moment, a millisecond it was pure confusion, and then comprehension dawned. Then there was a brief expression of _what, now?_ before Sam accepted it, and gave a brief nod.

"Actually, Dean, it's been something we've both wanted to tell you about before," Sam said, shifting in his seat, moving a little closer to Gabriel, their knees almost touching. It was that little gesture that made Gabriel's heart swell.

"I was going to make a cake, but as Sam isn't such a fan-" Gabriel continued, watching as Dean's face began to twist into a frown. Gabriel had to force himself to be clear, to spit it out and not annoy Dean by over-complicating what really was very easy to understand. "We're seeing each other. Have been for a while. Just so you know, so there's not awkward conversations about who has keys to where."

Dean didn't have a reply to that straight away. He looked between them, scowling at Gabriel, at least before Castiel's hand reach out and squeezed Dean's own. Was it support? Possibly, but Gabriel thought it much more to be a reminder of Castiel's last words. That Gabriel was being supportive and understanding.

It was the last one. It had to be, because Dean seemed to gather himself, to suck in a breath, and accept it. "That's... great, guys. I'm happy for you."

Gabriel was never, ever going to get used to the fact that it wasn't Castiel shouting at him. Gabriel wasn't going to get used to the fact that he was being shouted at in the first place. But the fact it was an angry red-head stomping towards him with her hand outstretched was enough to make him stop talking on his phone and mutter hurried goodbyes before tucking it safely in his pocket.

"Gabriel! What are you doing? Come on! Who was it? Castiel?" She asked, still with her hand held out insistently, until he rolled his eyes and dropped the offending cell into her palm.

"Charlie, come on. Castiel knows the schedule. Do you think he'd let me be late to my own show? It was Sammy, he's swinging by the store on his way home."

"I thought so. Your brother has better things to do than sit and talk to you in the middle of the afternoon. But you should be letting Sam panic over his finals."

She had a point. She had two points, really. Sammy should be studying, but a five minute break wasn't going to cost him his degree. And Castiel did have better things to do.

Gabriel had just assumed that Castiel was going to take on a life of leisure, especially as Gabriel had managed to buy him out of his fifty-one percent stake. But even though Castiel hadn't ever actually said what he wanted to do next, Gabriel didn't think it would be jumping back into funding another business venture, even if it was with Dean. They were going to set up a garage of their own. More exactly, Dean was going to set it up and do all the dirty car-related work. Castiel was going to have a nice, clean office on-site where he could crunch numbers and file things, probably keep a fake looking plant. It meant Castiel never ever had to deal with Gabriel's mess, not now he'd moved into the house Sam and Dean had once shared, and Sam had moved into the apartment with Gabriel.

Which gave Castiel and Dean free reign to eat as much take away food as they liked, but they seemed happy, and that was the important thing.

"Don't forget after this, I need you to get your ass over to Becky's and look over the cover proofs for the book, okay?"

"Yeah, I won't forget!" Gabriel called back, the heat of the studio lights prickling against his skin as he stepped back on set, sucking in a breath. He hadn't expected things to balloon like this, but for once, things had turned out as close to perfect as he could have hoped to imagine.

In the dark recess of the soundstage, a bell went off, and Charlie held up a hand, curling her fingers one by one into a fist. Five seconds. Four. Three. Two.

"Afternoon folks, and welcome to another delicious edition of Kitchen Heaven. And we've got a mouth-watering show lined up for you today..."


End file.
